


The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side

by Alkeni



Series: Iron Coin Chronicles [5]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkeni/pseuds/Alkeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Coin may be in Sunnydale, but its effects can be felt in L.A. An L.A. that still has an Angel, but has no down-on-her-luck Cordelia, and no rogue-demon-hunter Wesley. Welcome to the Flip Side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Atonement Doesn't Need Death

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Angel the Series.

 **Note:**  As I said when I pre-viewed this fic in Iron Coin Chronicles 2x08, this fanfic series will not be a re-write of every episode. Some episodes will be similar enough in end result to not be worth the effort, while others will not happen at all. Some episodes will be fairly different but just won't be very interesting to read, IMO. Or to write.

So, this story will not be updated with any frequency (or at least not the same frequency as the ICC series). When an Angel episode to re-write comes up, a chapter will be written. It will be written alongside the mainline of ICC, and it remains possible that the two will intersect. I won't speak as to a certainty either way.

What I will do, to make it clear for everyone, is to identify exactly what Angel episode I'm re-writing in Flip Side for any given chapter. As with ICC, I generally assume you're familiar with the way the actual episode went, or familiar enough with the important points– and that if you aren't, you should take a quick look at an episode summary or something. When there's this much to unpack, I don't have the time or space to really work in everything, so you do need to be familiar with the original material. I'm just saying.

Thanks to Starway Man and dieticlast for beta-reading and creative consultancy services. You guys have continued to make this series great, and without your ideas and advice, this would be a much lesser series.

I haven't mentioned it recently, and I'm going to mention it once in this fic, and that will be all. I have a tumblr, alkenifanfiction . Tumblr . Com and on that site I post fandom and fanfiction related ramblings, provide sneak peaks, writing updates and other related things. If you're interested, feel free to follow. Otherwise, on with the fic!

**This Episode is a re-write of Episode 1x09 “Hero” from Angel.**

The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side

By Alkeni

Chapter 1: Atonement Doesn't Need Death

_Once upon a time there was a vampire. And he was the meanest vampire in all the land. All the other vampires were afraid of him, he was such a – bastard. Then one day he’s cursed – by gypsies. They restore his human soul. And all of a sudden he is mad with guilt. You know: ‘What have I done?’ You know, he’s freaked. It’s a fairly dull tale. It needs a little sex, is my feeling. So sure enough: enter the girl. Pretty little blonde thing, Vampire Slayer by trade. And our vampire falls madly in love with her. Eventually the two of them, well, they get fleshy with one another. Well, I guess the technical term is perfect happiness. But when our boy gets there, he goes bad again. He kills again. It’s ugly. So when he gets his soul back for the second time, he figures hey, he can’t be any where near Miss Young Puppy Eyes without endangering them both. So what does he do? He takes off. Goes to L.A. To fight evil and atone for his crimes. He’s a shadow, a faceless champion of the hapless human race._

Looking around at his home for the past few months, Angel had to admit it to himself – he hadn't exactly planned to stay in L.A. Hadn't really even planned to be in L.A. Angel in the City of Angels? Someone like Xander Harris might have thought it funny, but Angel didn't. But then...

He'd ended up staying in L.A. anyway. It had more or less just happened. Plus there was plenty for him to do. Plenty of evil to defeat – vampire and demon alike. They were more careful here, more integrated, than in Sunnydale. There were less of both relative to the overall human population, but given how many people lived in L.A. and its surrounding area? That was still a  _lot_  of demons and vampires.

Yes, he hadn't meant to stay in L.A. but...it had happened anyway. And now he was here to stay, unless Doyle's visions took them out of the city for some reason.

Doyle – Allan Francis Doyle, to use his full name – the Irish half-demon had grown on him. He hadn't expected that when the guy just showed up in his apartment, telling Angel his life story. And what 'happened next'. Angel still wasn't very happy about this emphasis on getting him into the world, on making him engage with people, but it was... 

Well, at the start he had hated it. But over the past few months – okay, he disliked using the word 'nice' on general principles, but it  _was_  nice to have someone by his side. Someone who understood. Someone who wasn't totally human, the way everyone else in Sunnydale had been...apart from him.

Doyle wasn't exactly the kind of guy he'd expected he'd start to see as perhaps a friend, but as it turned out... that was more or less what was happening. Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure. It wasn't like he had much experience with the concept, even in Sunnydale. There'd been Buffy, and there'd been  _her_  friends, who he'd tolerated or gotten along with more for her than anything else. The only one he'd really had any 'friendly' affection for was Willow. Cordelia was exasperating, Xander annoying, and as a Watcher Giles was never going to really approve of him even before... Jenny. Afterwards – well, Angel wouldn't ever have expected anything more than what he got from Giles. He was kind of surprised that Giles really had gone to bat for him with the Council, but then again, the man would do just about anything for Buffy.

Faith he had respect for, but not much like. It was good that she'd always been willing to stake him if he got out of line, if he ever lost his soul again. Buffy had killed him, in the end, sent him to hell – but it had been literally him or the world, and it had taken her months to get to that point. Angel had appreciated that there was a white hat who would stake him if need be that  _could_. Which was why he'd told Doyle rather explicitly to contact Faith if he ever lost his soul again.

A moment of 'perfect happiness' wasn't in his future, not with Buffy living roughly eighty miles away up the coast, but Angel knew there were other ways to lose one's soul. Ways that applied to everyone, not just him. He didn't want to take chances. Not after... not after Angelus had come out to play in Sunnydale.

Doyle, surprisingly, had fully understood. He hadn't expected that, which in many ways made him value the other man more. Though the man's belief that going to a sports bar was a good way to spend the evening was annoying – and the fact that he wouldn't stop occasionally trying to convince him to go to one, rather than spending the evening with a good book. So far, Doyle had yet to convince him that a bunch of drunks yelling at a TV screen was worth putting down a compelling read like  _Les Miserables_. Angel still wasn't sure how he'd managed to miss this particular work so far in his life. Though he still preferred  _War and Peace_.

Having someone back him up in a fight was somewhat helpful, but it was annoying how Doyle insisted on staying human during a fight – even though he was far stronger when letting his Brachen side show. As a human, he was maybe a few steps above Xander in a fight – not very good, but at least not entirely useless. As a Brachen, he was  _much, much_  better at contributing to success in a fight to the death.

Of course, Angel didn't know much of anything at all about these 'Powers that Be' that Doyle talked about – his term for them, rather than whatever it was they called themselves, if they called themselves anything. He wasn't sure, but the way Doyle seemingly randomly inserted himself into his life, complete with 'instructions from on high' reminded him of Whistler. While he had no way of knowing for certain (his old mentor had never mentioned them by name), he suspected that Whistler worked for these 'Powers', whatever they were.

None of this had been planned. But it had happened. Along the way, he'd made himself an enemy of Wolfram and Hart by pushing one of their undead clients out a window in front of one 'Lindsey McDonald'. And then stopping one of their human mobster clients from killing a cop and escaping from police custody, with their little 'talking stick' and 'sensitivity training'.

_Though the less I remember about all that, the better._

And then there was that plain-clothes cop. LAPD Detective Kate Lockley and he had more or less stumbled across each other's paths when Doyle's visions led him to that club and eventually to that body-jumper. He'd ended up crossing paths with her a few times since, most notably with that 'talking stick'.

Lockley was interesting, Angel was willing to admit that much to himself. She'd more or less given him a legal pass about the body-jumper, probably because he'd saved her life, but it had still saved him from hassles he didn't want to deal with. Sometimes, he missed the days when a man could move through society without any need to interact with officialdom, when you didn't need all those different forms of I.D. just to legally exist in the world. Made being immortal a lot easier. As it was, he had to have a name to sign on the lease for his apartment and on his bills for the electricity that, you know, gave him light and kept the pig's blood in his refrigerator cold. And plumbing. And he needed a name for his driver's license. And a –

So Lockley had done him a favor, more or less.

She'd called in that favor when she'd asked him to 'consult' by helping her find a mob boss who was trying to get out of town. It hadn't worked out all that smoothly – including him having to actually stop the bad guy from escaping – but it had worked well enough.

The other times he'd run into the female cop had been far less noteworthy – Detective Lockley clearly liked the complicated, messy cases, the ones that were more likely to turn out to have the kind of supernatural component that he got involved with, at the direction of Doyle's visions or his 'contacts' in the supernatural world of L.A. It was one of the things he'd learned quickly about Doyle – he knew a guy. He  _always_ , it seemed, knew a guy. It just often turned out that that guy wanted to collect some debt or another he owed, which was problematic at best. But he'd found that he could at least trust Doyle with his back.

He knew Lockley didn't need any protecting, but he wondered just how long it would be before her interest in the more disturbing crimes in L.A. might see her go one step too far, find out the truth and get in over her head with a vampire or a demon or a warlock or something. It was an unpleasant thought – for all her rough edges, it was clear Lockley was a good person, and the world needed more in the way of good people.

And speaking of good people, there was Harriet “Harry” Doyle. She was a recent addition to his unlife, but her expertise in demons had proven useful once since the disastrous bachelor party that had nearly seen Doyle's brains eaten, and Angel suspected her demon expertise would be useful again. She didn't have the range of language knowledge a Watcher would have – though she did know several demon languages – but her understanding of demons was just as useful. More or less.

Even if Angel would never have expected to hear anyone call themselves an 'ethnodemonologist' of all things.

_People today._

At the very least, Harry had given him tips on a few locales frequented by non-violent or even 'good' demons, which could prove useful sources of information on what was going on in supernatural L.A., if or when Doyle's contacts failed. Including a place Angel planned never to visit – a karaoke bar named  _Caritas_. Because he didn't do karaoke. Or sing. Ever.

Getting Harry's help on that case – or any others – wasn't exactly something that made Doyle happy, but he'd done it anyway, and Harry had been more than willing to help both him and her ex-husband.

Though...she'd made a few comments about wanting to study  _him_  – given that he was a 'unique fusion of human and demon', given his soul. She'd (understandably) shied away from studying vampires in any close detail beyond what was in texts and tomes, but she seemed quite interested in the opportunity to study one that  _wouldn't_  tear her throat out at the earliest opportunity.

Angel wasn't looking forward to her attempts to convince him to go along with that.

Life in L.A. during the last few months had been a mix of new, aggravating and interesting. What it  _wasn't_  was similar to life in Sunnydale, which was a welcome plus.

**November 30th, 1999  
Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

Doyle didn't exactly live in the upper part of Angel's two-level apartment, but he spent a lot of time there nonetheless. Made things easier if the man had a vision, which would happen at just about any time, day or night. They  _generally_  happened at night, which fit both Angel's situation and the fact that demons and vampires stayed indoors during the day, but visions during the day had nonetheless occurred a few times.

Right now, though, Angel was still working through his Thanksgiving visit to Sunnydale. Seeing Buffy again, even from afar...it hadn't been easy. And seeing her happy, more or less – that had been both easier and harder to bear. It was...good, that she could be happy again. That him leaving hadn't left her an emotional wreck or something, but it was also...painful, to see her happy, and to not be able to share in her happiness. To not be part of her life.

For her part, Faith hadn't really been impressed with his desire to stay away from Buffy for her own good, but she  _had_  agreed not to tell Buffy that he'd been in town to help out thanks to Doyle's vision. Thankfully. The dark-haired Slayer had also said that Buffy wasn't exactly over him – and while she was better now, she'd been worse earlier. Something about a guy named 'Parker', Faith had mentioned – but that had been more muttered than anything else, and Angel hadn't wanted to hear details about some sort of rebound relationship Buffy had had. Especially if it had ended badly – which he suspected it had, given the brunette's facial expression. 

Just hearing the name made him want to find whoever it was Faith had mentioned, and beat the crap out of him. What kind of name was Parker anyway?

But he was back in L.A. now, and away from Buffy, like he needed to be. Still couldn't move past it all, seeing her again. Nothing had ever really left him, but seeing her again had brought it all back into full relief.

Angel heard the elevator from the upper level coming down over the sound of him hitting the punching bag in front of him and he slowed down, then stopped as the elevator came to a stop. Unsurprisingly, Doyle came out and approached him.

“Is this a private catharsis, or can anyone watch?” Doyle asked, leaning one shoulder against a wall, arms crossed.

“What do you want?” Angel started punching the bag again. He wasn't really in the mood for another 'getting out into the world' pep talk from the half-demon seer.

“You've been in a right mood ever since you got back from the Hellmouth. Now I get being upset about seeing Buffy again – I mean, when my ex showed up, I was a wreck for a few days myself. But it's time to get back to the fight, Angel.”

“It's not just seeing Buffy.” Angel said as he stepped away from the punching back, sitting down. “That's a lot of it, but – I left for her own good. And she's happy – with me, after I came back from Hell-”

“There was this black storm cloud over everything between the two of you?” Doyle suggested for him.

Angel sighed. “More or less.” And then there had been Faith's skepticism about the merits of leaving for her own good, and the way Faith had pointed out that Angel was deciding what was best for Buffy without even talking to her about it. Which Faith had called 'stupid man bullshit'.  _Was leaving actually the best choice?_

“It's not easy, breaking things off, or having things broken off.” Doyle replied. He shrugged, “I don't know if I'd have the strength to do what you did – I'm more of a 'pleasures of the flesh' sort. Walking away from a girl like that for her own good?” The Irishman shook his head. “I dunno. But,” Doyle came away from the wall, “that's why you're the hero and I'm just the guy with the migraines that come with pictures.”

“These 'Powers' of yours had to have seen something in you, or they wouldn't have given you the visions at all.” Angel told him, remembering Doyle's mysterious – and as yet, unexplained – 'we all got something to atone for' comment. “You never know your strength until you're tested.” He added.

“You're a vampire with a soul who went to hell and back and you've dedicated yourself to the fight against evil.” Doyle countered. He gestured to himself, “Me? If it weren't for the visions, I'd still be a nobody drinking and gambling my life away.” He frowned a little as he added, “not that I've really stopped either of those habits.”

No, Doyle hadn't. Though Angel had noticed his friend seemed to be drinking a little less since his ex-wife had shown up, and then proved willing to help them if they ever needed her expertise with demons. At least, he  _smelled_  like he'd been drinking less, which was all Angel really had to go on. As a general rule, he trusted his senses and the evidence they gave him. It was hard to fool a vampire's sense of smell.

“You're a Champion, Angel. You did the right thing by her because that's what you do. Part of your makeup.” Doyle finished. “If you could be with her, you would – who'd pass up a beauty like that? But you can't.”

“Even if I could be with her –” Angel shook his head, “our lives don't belong to ourselves. She's got a duty. In the end, I just got in the way of that – she  _fed_  herself to me in order to save me. Her life is worth more than mine.” He shook his head, “There was no way I could stay in Sunnydale. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

“Maybe not now, but you've got to hold out hope for –” Doyle started to say, but then he closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his head, grunting in pain.

“Vision?” Angel stood up. Maybe something to do would make it easier to put Sunnydale behind him. Maybe.

“Vision.” Doyle confirmed. “There's a condemned apartment building – boarded over windows, complete wreck on the inside – the works.” He named an address, taking his hand from his head and searching through his pockets, fishing out a bottle of aspirin. He dumped three pills into his hand and swallowed them dry.

Angel supposed Doyle probably had a lot of practice with swallowing pain medication, since the visions had come into his life.

“Anything more?” Angel was already heading for his weapons. The first thing were the two wristbands loaded with stakes – they were on his arms and concealed in his sleeves in a matter of moments. He had no idea what else it was that he was going to need, unless Doyle gave him info. A sword of some kind was always useful – maybe an axe?

“Demons. The people that need help,” Doyle said softly, “they're demons.” He sounded surprised, unsurprisingly. Shocked even.

Angel turned around at that.  _Did he just –_  “Demons?” Angel didn't get that – how –

Okay, there were 'good' demons. He'd always known that. 'Demon' was a rather broad category, and while most were violent, brutal monsters barely above animals just like Angelus had been, there were plenty of species and breeds that had no interest in killing except in self-defense. That sort were no threat to humans – at least not more than humans were to themselves. Angelus had always found such beings to be especially pathetic, and as Angel, he'd tended to avoid them.

'Good' and 'neutral' demons had even less love for vampires than 'evil' ones generally did. In several years on the Hellmouth, he'd only met a handful of demons that weren't evil, and after coming to L.A. he hadn't really run into any. Because initially, he'd been avoiding people of all stripes, demon and human alike.

But then he'd met first Doyle, and then those Ano-Movics. The 'brain eating' aside, they had seemed to be entirely human in the way they lived their lives. Under other circumstances, all that might almost have been funny. As it was, it was just strange. 

And now, the visions from the Powers were sending him off to save demons? They'd only ever sent him to save humans before...

 _An innocent life is an innocent life, no?_  Angelus' 'crimes' had been against humans, but only because demon blood was not something a vampire could feed on. There were a few species he'd heard about that vampires could enjoy the blood of, but they were more or less the equivalent of... junk food, for lack of a better analogy. Edible, but not really any good at sating actual hunger for the undead.

But saving lives was saving lives. That really was all there was to it. So far, Doyle's visions had yet to lead him wrong. He still didn't entirely trust them, but for the time being, he was going to trust this one.

“Demons.” Doyle confirmed. “They're – they're hiding from someone, or something.” He went on to explain. “I don't recognize the species.” He frowned, “I hate to say it, but we might end up needing to call Harry on this.”

“If we need to, we will.” Angel agreed. “You managed to get along with her when she helped us before.”

“Not sure I'd use the phrase 'managed to get along with her' to describe that, Angel.” Doyle disagreed. “She's still not happy about the whole ruined engagement thing.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Pretty sure she's blaming me for screwing it up for her.”

“Richard Straley was going to eat your brains. He was going to  _kill_  you. She wasn't happy about that all on her own.” Angel pointed out.

“Aye, but she blames me all the same.” Doyle countered. “Not fair or rational, but – well, women.” He let out a sigh and gave a shrug, a sentiment Angel was unfortunately familiar with.

 _Not that men can't be just as irrational._  Angel had enough experience to know that too – and had already handled enough cases where that was a problem.

“We'll call her if we have to.” Angel said again, and Doyle nodded unhappily.

**November 30th, 1999  
Condemned Building, Los Angeles**

The inside of the structure showed the obvious signs of current habitation. Foot traffic in the dust, the smell of recent – and definitely demonic – life, and of course, the bed and blankets and pillows scattered around just the section they could see through the hole in the interior wall. But he couldn’t see any people, demonic or otherwise.

They turned the corner, Angel checking around with his flashlight – he was holding one as much for Doyle's benefit as for his own, his own eyes picking up on things in the darkness human eyes never could. Or half-Brachen demon eyes, in this case.

“Pretty low rent, even by demon standards.” Doyle commented. Which was true – demons that were humanlike enough to desire beds with pillows and blankets usually went for better than this place. Not always much better, but they tended to like their creature comforts.

“Well, you said they were hiding. It's a good place for it.” Which made it a terrible place to hide, long term. Once all the obvious places were checked, you checked the good hiding places. If whoever was after the demons that lived here knew anything about how to hide, they'd be here soon.

_Which would probably be why Doyle got a vision now._

The next room they passed had couches, stuffed chairs – but torn, worn and well beaten. The kind of furniture too damaged to even be left out on the street for someone who wants it to just up and take. The whole place screamed squalor.

The stuffed animals on the couch suggested children. Demon children.

That wasn't something Angel had ever really stopped to think about – but to a certain level, children were children. Humanlike demons  _would_  give their children stuffed animals, dolls, toys. Like everything else, these were worn, battered and damaged. Well used and possibly even fished out of a dumpster.

But it was the food on the table that drew his attention. Cheap, but at least there seemed to be a significant amount of it. It was still warm. Whoever had been sitting here at this table had been doing it not that long ago.

He stepped out of the room and looked down the hall. He inhaled sharply – there was a scent stronger than the rest. The people who lived here? It was hard to tell.

“I smell something.” He told Doyle. Completely misunderstanding him, Doyle gestured to the table:

“Still warm. They left in a hurry.”

“Not food.” Angel explained. He stood in the middle of the room, tracing the scent – he crouched down and grabbed the rug, tossing it aside. Faintly, he could see the outline of a trap door.  _Not bad._  It was fairly well hidden. “Fear.” He added. That was what he'd smelled. It was similar between species, but not exactly the same. But he was a vampire, and vampires were predators. Fear was what they lived on – more than blood even, in some ways.

Angel reached down and pulled the trapdoor up, shining his flashlight down into the revealed hole alongside Doyle.

He could see them – demons. Huddled together. Terrified. If not for the fact that they obviously weren't human...you'd think they were. They had the same looks of fright a human would, they wore human clothes – if worn, torn, patched and mismatched – and the older ones were already putting themselves in front of the younger ones, even as he and Doyle looked on.

Angel crouched down, keeping his voice calm and reassuring. “Don't be afraid. It's okay. We're here to help.”

**November 30th, 1999  
Condemned Building, Los Angeles**

It took only a few minutes for the demons – Lister Clan – to get out of their little panic room. It was pretty clear they had a lot of experience going in and out of it, or at least rooms like it. There were maybe two dozen of them at most. A few children, a few elderly. All of them looked tired, hungry and scared.

“Who are you?” One of them – an older one – was brave enough ask first, the first to come out.

“My name's Angel. This is Doyle.” He gestured to his companion. “We're here to help.” He told them again. There was no point in beating around the bush, “You're hiding from something that wants you dead?” It really wasn't a question. People didn't hide like this, feel that much terror, if they weren't being hunted. He would help these people – as quickly and effectively as he could.

“Why would you help us?” The demon asked. “How did you know to find us here?” If he needed to breathe, Angel would have inhaled sharply in annoyance. He was used to questions like this, but he didn't like wasting time with the answers.

“Because you're innocent people in need of help.” Angel answered. Going into 'my friend has visions' was more complicated than he really wanted to spend time on. Explaining it to Faith, as to why he'd been in Sunnydale, that was one thing. But this wasn't really the time or the place. The visions would only come if whoever they depicted was in imminent danger of one kind or another. Probably more than one kind. “Who's after you?” He asked more explicitly.

“The Scourge.” The Lister demon said softly, as if afraid to be heard saying it. The name meant nothing to him. Was that a person, a nickname? Some kind of demon or evil force? A group? Angel didn't miss the flicker of recognition on Doyle's face. The name meant something to the Seer. “They've been hunting us for months, tracking us like animals. And they will find us here...but there's no escape. Not on our own.”

“No escape?” What was stopping them from running? They'd clearly done it before, from what the demon had said.

“We have no other options –” the demon paused a moment, then swallowed. “There's an island, off the coast of Ecuador. Briole. Many of our people have found sanctuary there. A place we can call home, be safe. We tried to join them –” He looked away for a moment. “We gave our money – all of it – to a man who promised us passports, and passage on a ship. We were too trusting – stupid. He took the money, and the ship never came.”

Angel felt an immediate urge to strangle someone. Even before he'd...

Before he'd met Whistler, met Buffy, begun to play a role in the fight against Evil, Angel would never had sunk so long as to try to profit from a situation like this. He didn't especially need the money, yes, but it was the kind of evil that was just both so insanely petty and brutally destructive which annoyed him. In decades gone past, he probably wouldn't have cared about these people's plight, though he didn't like to think about that. But he would never have even  _thought_  to promise them a way out, then taken the money and run. It didn't even make sense to him. There  _had_  to be better ways to make money, even while being scum.

“You were trying to save yourselves. You make a mistake, it doesn't make you stupid.” Doyle said softly. “That bastard's going to have to carry around what he did the rest of his life. He's the idiot.” There was something in what the half-demon said that suggested Doyle understood first-hand what he was saying.

_We all got something to atone for._

Before anyone could say anymore, another demon, just a kid, a teenager – though Angel had no idea how  _old_  the demon actually was – burst into the room, holding a box.

“They're close. They almost got us. We lost half our supplies.” Angel watched as the kid walked right by him and Doyle.

The Lister they'd been talking to put a hand on the kid's shoulder, gently turning him around to see Angel and Doyle. “Rieff. We have a guest. It's the Promised One.”

Angel heard those words, blinked, and –

 _I'm no one's promised one._  Angel knew he wasn't some prophesied hero. He was a vampire – with a soul, yes, but vampires weren't heroes in prophecies. That was Slayers. People who didn't have a century of bloodshed to work off. He was here to help them, but he wasn't going to be able to promise them whatever it was their prophecies claimed – prophecies  _never_  worked out well, never like someone would expect.

 _Buffy faced the Master and died...then came back._  With Xander's help. Because prophecy didn't take into account things like a useless nobody having the courage that a vampire with a soul didn't. Angel didn't like to admit it, but that was a moment when Xander _hadn't_  been useless, and he had been.

But that was the point: placing all your belief in a prophecy was useless. Because prophecy didn't take into account the fact that once people knew about it, things changed. Things didn't go as planned. Angel had lived long enough – as Liam, as Angelus and as Angel– to find the very idea of prophecy, of the future being foretold in unchangeable detail, suspect. The visions were one thing – they weren't ancient passed-down stories translated fifteen times and rewritten over and over again as pages and parchment failed.

Besides, they had yet to be proven wrong. Whereas prophecies...

“Terrific.” The kid – Rieff – said, his sarcasm sounding all too human.

“I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding.” Angel started. They needed to  _not_  rely on him as some sort of savior. He could help them, but whatever he did couldn't be constrained by some sort of ancient text.

“Oh, I don't think so.” The elder disagreed. “Many of our prophecies are cryptic, but on one thing they are all clear: In the final days of this century the Promised One will appear and save us from the Scourge.”

 _Maybe a little suspect that the one part that's clear is the part that's coming up right now?_  Also the most appealing part?

“He's not the Promised One.” Rieff said to the older Lister demon. “He can't protect us – they're coming, and no matter how many promised guys you throw at them, they're not going to stop until every last one of us is dead. You're going to get us all killed!” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the room.

_Huh. It turns out teenagers are the same across time, space **and**  species._

“He's young.” The elder told Angel, sounding apologetic. “I'm sorry. Excuse me.” He started off after Rieff. Angel looked at Doyle and gestured to the window. The half-demon got the hint and they both made their way over to it.

“The Scourge. What is it?” he asked.

“Death.” Doyle said softly, with a hollow note he'd never heard in the man's voice before.

“Death?”

“An army of pureblood demons. They have a big hate-on for us mixed heritage types.” Doyle gestured to himself and the Listers. “Very into pedigree. They hunt us down like animals.” Doyle looked at him, “Not especially fond of vampires, either.”

“Demons of all stripes usually aren't.” Angel pointed out. “Does anyone fight back?”

“Oh all the time.” Doyle nodded softly. “I wouldn't be surprised if these ones did, at some point. You notice there's not a lot of adult men.” He gestured back to the various Lister Demons again. “Elders and kids, right? People try to stand up to the Scourge, but it's not just some random gang of skinheads or something. They're fanatics. They  _want_  to die for the cause. They  _believe_  in what they're doing.”

“Zealots.” Angel summarized.

“The worst. You can't fight them and win.” He looked away, “Can't even hide from them. They always find who they're looking for.”

This was personal for Doyle, Angel suddenly realized. He had experience. First-hand. But not in fighting them.

“Who did they get? A friend?”

Doyle shook his head. “I barely knew him.” The man looked out the window for a moment, then back to Angel. “You know how I told you once that we all had something to atone for?” Angel nodded and let Doyle continue. “This is mine.” Taking a breath, Doyle told him the whole sorry tale – how a full-blood Brachen named Lucas had come to him for help a short time after Doyle had discovered his heritage, just a few months after Harry had left him. How Doyle had turned Lucas away. Refused to help him. It hadn't been his problem – why help them? Why draw attention to himself?

It was a feeling Angel understood, having been there at times since getting his soul. He couldn't condemn Doyle – and Doyle was quite clearly condemning himself for it. Strongly. Had been for a long time.

“I punked out.” Doyle finished. “I'd only just found out about my demon side. I didn't know what it meant. The idea of having family obligations with guys that looked like big blue pin cushions, it was just a little bit too much to take right then. And I was afraid.” Doyle looked out the window again.

Angel figured he already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. “What happened to him? Him and the rest?”

“I saw them dying.” Doyle said softly. “The first vision I ever had. When it happened – I thought I was having a stroke or something...but the pictures. They stayed with me. I didn't know what they meant, if it was just guilty conscience or –” He let out a breath, “I went looking for them. I had to know if it was real, or a dream, or...”

Doyle shook his head. “It wasn't a dream.”

Angel looked at Doyle. So much about the man made more sense now. It was interesting how one event in a person's past could so utterly change a person, explain a lot about the way they behaved. He'd wondered what it was that could take a guy like Doyle – the sort of guy he'd presented to Angel initially, anyway – and make him dedicate his life to helping people the way he did. This –

_We all got something to atone for._

“You couldn't have known.” Angel told him. “The only ones responsible for their deaths are the Scourge.” It was easy for him to say that, but by his own logic, that meant he wasn't responsible for what Angelus did. Which was rather hard to argue – he wasn't Angelus, but he  _remembered_  being Angelus. He remembered enjoying it. Remembered living it. Whether or not he  _was_  responsible didn't really matter. He  _felt_  responsible. For every crime Angelus committed, from the smallest to the largest. He remembered every face, every victim, every debauched sin.

“But that's the thing.” Doyle disagreed. “Lucas told me they would kill them. That that was what the Scourge did. I  _still_  didn't help them!” He looked at Angel. “That's the thing about the Scourge, Angel – they always get their victims in the end. These people are going to need more then their mythic Promised One. The contractually-obligated 500 might be a start. You can't fight the Scourge, Angel.”

Shrugging mentally, Angel ignored that; mostly because he had no intention of fighting an army. Among demons on Earth, 'army' usually only meant warriors in the hundreds, rather than thousands. But as good as he was, he was never going to be able to fight a whole army by himself. If he had Buffy  _and_  Faith by his side, plus maybe Willow and Amy with their magicks for good measure, he might consider some sort of strategy that involved fighting them – though only as a delaying strategy, and certainly not to the death or even close – but just by himself? Not an option. And there wasn't likely time to try and get help from Sunnydale, if he could even convince Faith and Buffy to risk their lives for demons.

For some reason, he really doubted he'd be able to. Their experience with demons thus far was entirely with hostile, bloodthirsty monsters, him being the only exception, and they had a Hellmouth to defend. If this was happening in their backyard... well, the Lister demons here were innocents, so they'd probably be willing to help once he convinced them it was the right thing to do. But all this  _wasn't_  happening in their backyard, so...

So it was all immaterial. There was no time, and he really didn't want to ask either of the Slayers to come down to L.A. anyway. Especially not Buffy.

“We don't have to fight them. Because we're going to get these people out of here.” Angel said firmly.

“How? We can't just take 'em to this Briole place. Well, unless you've got a ship in one of the pockets on that coat of yours. And anywhere we  _could_  take them would just be a temporary refuge at best, until the Scourge came after them again.”

“I don't have a ship, but there's a ship's captain that will take them, if I tell him to do it.” Angel told him. At the quizzical look on Doyle's face, Angel added, “He owes me a lot of money. This will settle the debt.”

“You'll have to tell me how that situation happened at some point.” Doyle said softly. “Well, okay. But the question is, how do we get these people to the harbor? They can't exactly go out onto the streets as a whole group, especially with the Scourge roaming around.”

“No. But I assume you know a guy you can borrow or rent a big truck from cheaply?” The plan was forming only loosely in Angel's head – he knew enough to expect a complication of some kind to arise, but he had no idea what it was going to be. So until it came up, he had to keep things moving.

“I might know a guy.” Doyle said hesitantly after a moment.

“Go get a truck from him, then.” Angel said simply. “But before you go, call Harry and give me your phone.”

“Harry? Angel, you aren't getting her involved! This is too dangerous –”

“She can take care of herself.” Angel interrupted, “But I'm not planning on her getting involved anymore than answering questions.” Sure, they could use a third person to help keep everything in line, but this wasn't something he could bring an ethnodemonologist like her into. Harry would freak out these people with all her questions even more than they already were. “She might know more about the Scourge than you do. If she studies demons, and she's spent a lot of time around the nonviolent kinds – the kinds that the Scourge would hate if they're the purity type – then she might have information of use.”

Doyle looked back at him for a moment, then nodded. He took out his phone and dialed a number, then handed the phone to Angel. “I'll be back with the truck quick as I can.” He left the room.

Angel nodded, and listened to the buzzing of the phone as it rang. He didn't like cell phones. As he'd said before, and probably would complain about again, the damnable things were almost certainly invented by a bored warlock to spread misery and suffering. Or at least frustration and aggravation. The way they lost calls and broke the signals constantly for no apparent reason was just the start. Sure, there was an advantage to not having to go and find a pay phone but –

“ _Francis_?” Harry's voice demanded from the other end of the line.

“No, it's Angel.” Angel said. “Why would you think it's Doyle?” His ex still called him Francis, even though the guy had insisted on being called Doyle several times in his presence. Angel guessed he would give up before she did.

“Because he's the only one who would call my home phone this late at night. Anyone else would just call my office and leave a message.” Harry explained, before her voice hitched somewhat. “Is something – did something happen to –”

Angel shook his head. “No, Doyle's fine. I'm just borrowing his phone. We need some information.” Angel briefly wondered what exactly Harry's job was if she had an 'office phone'. Presumably she had one – she'd confirmed as much already – but how exactly did an ethnodemologist work in order to get paid? Given that this wasn't the time, Angel filed the question under 'ask later if there's time and I care enough' and got back to the task at hand.

“What do you need?” She asked

“Do you know anything about Lister Demons?” So far, nothing Angel had seen suggested that these demons were anything but innocent, but he'd rather not find out that he was saving a clan that regularly ate human organs or were actually significantly more violent than they seemed. Innocents should be protected – but demons that were a threat to people? That was a little more of an issue.

“Lister Demons?” Harry said nothing for a moment, “Well, going off the top of my head here, they're a fairly peaceful species. I mean, they can be violent, just like humans can – but they're no more or less likely to indulge in that sort of thing. A lot of human blood in them, and some even pass for humans pretty easily without even needing spells or disguises.”

“No problematic customs?”

“They don't eat brains, if that's what you mean. As far as I know, Listers don't really have many native traditions. They are big on prophecy, though. Angel – what's going on? I didn't realize there were any Lister demons in L.A.”

“That's kind of what they were going for.” Angel told her. “Second question: Do you know anything about The Scourge?”

Angel heard a sharp inhalation of breath on the other end of the line. “You're just asking out of academic curiosity, right?” There was a very, very hopeful note in her voice.

“I'm afraid not.” Angel replied.

“So you're telling me the Scourge is  _here_ , in L.A.?” Angel didn't need his superior vampiric senses to pick up on the fear in Harry's voice.

“Apparently. I'm trying to help a clan of Lister Demons out of L.A. before the Scourge can –” Angel started, but Harry interrupted.

“Look, Angel, I know you're a vampire. You're one of the big names – I did some research on your...reputation, after...well, you know, but –”

Angel shook his head and interrupted her this time, “All that was a long time ago. Plus I'm not the vampire that did those things.” Not that it didn't change the fact that he actively  _felt_  like he was.

“That's not what I was saying.” Harry replied. “I mean, I know all that; Francis wouldn't be working with you if you were still evil, and you do have a soul now. The point I was trying to make is that I know you're capable of doing a lot of damage to anyone you try to go up against. But the Scourge isn't just some gang of purity-obsessed demons. They're organized. They have a command structure just like a modern army, complete with uniforms.”

“Uniforms?” Angel tried to wrap his head around demons – especially purebloods going after other species for being too human – adopting anything so human as a uniform.

“Like something right out of Germany in the 30s and 40s.” Harry replied. “I've seen pictures, read accounts. And that's about as close to the Scourge as I want to get.”

“So they don't just act like Nazis, they dress like them too?” Angel rolled his eyes. “Great.”  _Maybe I'll be able to send one of their coats to Spike. With crosses sewn in. Or maybe laced with that 'Killer of the Dead' poison he nearly killed me with._ That seemed a lot more fitting. 

Of course, he had no idea where Spike currently was, but the blonde little shit would doubtless turn up again one day – and Spike had seemed awfully fond of that SS jacket way back when. “I don't plan to go up against them. Look, Harry, I've got a way to get the Listers out of L.A., but I need to know everything you know about the Scourge.”

Angel stepped into the hallway. “If they're that big on hating anything to do with humans, why model their uniforms on a human organization? Adopt a human command structure?” Was there anything  _else_  human he had to worry about? Demons with guns, maybe? They couldn't kill him that way, short of filling him so many bullets his entire body fell apart, but it would hurt like hell. And it would make it harder to protect the Listers.

“According to their literature – and yes, they  _do_  have literature – the ability and willingness of humans to work together in large groups and follow orders. That and their inventiveness. It's how an 'utterly inferior species has managed to spread itself across our world like a plague, its cities rising like boils and warts'.”

“Human inventiveness? So they use modern technology, too?”

“No, they don't. But they do use a lot more in the way of tools and devices than most demons. A lot of techno-mystical constructs.”

“Techno-mystical constructs? What exactly does that mean?” He needed this information, damn it, and he needed it yesterday.  _This_  was why Buffy kept Giles around – well, that and he'd become something of a father to her and her a daughter to him. No, not the time –

“I don't know! It's not like I've studied the Scourge that extensively.” Harry countered defensively.

“Harry, there are innocent lives riding on this. I need to know what I might be up against, if something goes wrong.”

“Sure, but I can't tell you what I don't know, Angel!” Harry pointed out, raising her voice, still defensive. “I can do some research, but I have no idea how long that will take.”

“Make it as quick as you can, Harry.” Angel replied. “Please.” He lowered the phone and hung up. At least, he was fairly sure that what he hit was the disconnect button. He closed the damned thing for good measure and tucked it into a pocket, for the time being.

**December 1st, 1999  
Truck en route to the L.A. Harbor**

Intimidating the Harbor Master into approving the ship's passage out of the port without inspection or question had been all too easy. Angel hadn't even needed to show his vampire face, which he had been expecting to have to use. He wasn't going to complain about the point, but there it was.

Getting all the Lister demons into the truck that Doyle brought to the hideout hadn't been that hard, either – although Rieff had tried to stay behind, apparently fed up with everything and believing nowhere was any better than where he was. Angel could understand how the teenage demon was frustrated with his lot in life, but that hadn't stopped him from slugging the kid and then loading his unconscious form onto the truck with the rest of his people. And sure, they didn't seem  _thrilled_  that Angel had knocked Rieff out that way – but at least they had accepted his explanation without difficulty. They didn't want the kid to stay behind and die, after all.

Which was fortunate. If Angel had bothered to try to  _talk_  Rieff into coming along quietly, then they wouldn't have missed the Scourge by the thin margin they actually did. But they did get out of there before the Scourge arrived, which was all to the good.

It was while they were on their way to the harbor when Harry called again.

Accepting the call on Doyle's phone, Angel answered. “Harry?”

“Yea.” She said, “I contacted an associate of mine who lives in Paris right now – and he  _wasn't_  happy about being called at this hour, let me tell you! Anyway, he's one of the few people who's actually had an encounter with the Scourge and lived to tell the tale. It was in Ukraine, a few years back.”

“Okay, and?” Angel asked impatiently. What was it that Harry's Parisian friend knew about the Scourge?

“The Scourge's techno-mystical devices. A lot of them are basically bombs. Incredibly deadly to anything that isn't a pure demon, in various ways. But they are all incredibly fragile. They're glass cannons.”

Angel blinked. “They make weapons out of glass? That's – kind of stupid, isn't it?”

“What?!” Harry explained, then, sounding utterly thrown by the idea, “No. Sorry. It's just an expression. The bombs – they're very powerful, but they can't take much punishment. They break easy, and if they break even a little bit, then they won't function.”

“So what, if they break one out, I just throw a rock at it?”

“Maybe something heavier than a rock you pick up off the ground or something, but yes, something along those lines.”

Well, it was useful information. Still didn't help him figure out how to fight off an army if they got to the ship, but it  _was_  better than nothing.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing else of any use. He survived that encounter with the Scourge by running as fast as he could, not by staying around to chat. He wasn't that interested in being talkative about them to begin with.” Harry sighed. “I wish I could be of more help – but I don' t have anything else, sorry.”

“What you've told me is more than I had before.” Angel replied. “Thanks.” It really wasn't that useful, but it was something.

“Welcome. Just – just make sure Francis doesn't do anything stupid. Please?” There was a level of worry in Harry's tone Angel hadn't quite expected. She obviously wasn't interested in her ex-husband dying – well, he already knew she didn't  _want_  him to die – but still.

“I'll make sure he doesn't.” Angel said. He didn't want his friend and seer doing anything stupid either. Of course, stopping him from doing stupid things was easier said than actually done.

“Get those Listers to safety.” Harry said. “Good luck.”

**December 1st, 1999  
The Quintessa, Pier 12, L.A. Harbor**

The ship's captain – 'Big Randy' – was not exactly happy about taking a bunch of demons on as cargo, but he really liked the idea of his debt with Angel being settled once and for all. Angel had never collected on it because it wasn't exactly as if he needed the money, and he figured that he might need a favor from the guy at some point in the future. He'd expected something more like needing to get  _himself_  out of the country in a big hurry, but this was as good a use of the debt as any other. Better, even.

The phone call to the captain before they got there had gotten things ready for them. But what it had apparently also done was make someone on 'Big Randy's' ship greedy. Because the Scourge was there. Angel was cursing himself for not picking up the scent before all the Lister demons had gotten into the hold. As far as he could tell, there was no other way they could have known the refugee Listers were coming here.

The only good thing, so far as Angel could tell, was that there was only about three dozen of them. Maybe they had more in L.A., but they didn't have more  _here._ With any luck...

“How did you figure out they were coming here?” Angel wanted to know who it was he had to  _thank_  for this complication.

“Never underestimate the greed of the inferior.” One of them said in a grand, bold voice, stepping forward from the assembled Scourge demons. Probably the leader. “A human came to us, offering information, think he'd be given money. He was given the proper reward for all those whose blood is filled with pollutants. Just as those on that ship will be.” The demon pointed to a crane that was  lowering something into the hold of the ship, even as the  _Quintessa_  was just starting to pull away from the pier.

“As soon as the Beacon's light shines, all those of impure blood, all those tainted by humanity within a quarter mile will be destroyed, burned away by its cleansing light!” The commander said, sounding like he was possessed by a religious ecstasy. Which might actually be the case. “It will be one further step to a cleaner world. And there is nothing you can do to stop it!”

 _Can't stop a glass cannon? Oh, I think I can manage that._  Angel shook his head and lunged for the Scourge commander, who was standing right in front of his men – no guards between him and the vampire that had no issues with killing him.

 _They're not used to actually fighting something with any real combat skills._ That was his supposition, anyway. Well, good. It was an exploitable weakness. 

“That's not going to happen tonight – and you're not going to be around for your cleaner world, anyway.” Angel grabbed the demon by the front of his Nazi-knockoff outfit and spun him into the Scourge soldier behind him, still holding on, but basically using the commander as a way to knock over his soldiers.

The Scourge demons fell like ninepins as they were hit, and though more came for him, Angel was already running to the ship. The device – the Beacon – was almost in perfect position over the ship's hold. Angel jumped onto the ship, landing with the commander – but before he could break the demon's neck, he broke free of Angel's grip.

“You will die, half-breed!” The Scourge leader yelled. “Your kind is a parasite on all that is pure and evil in this world! An abomination that offends my eyes!” He lunged at Angel, knocking him to the ground and getting a few good punches in as the Beacon started to glow. Angel could barely spare a glance for it, but he didn't have time for this fight. The Listers were in too much danger. Angel had no idea how long it would take to kill them, and him, and he didn't want to find out. 

“You talk too much.” Angel replied. “And with a football-head like yours, I don't think you should say anyone is an offense to  _your_  eyes.” Angel pushed the demon off of him, sending him flying back a few feet. They exchanged blows for more time than Angel really felt that he could spare – the demon was  _good_ , but Angel knew he was better.

Spinning the Scourge leader around, Angel grabbed the commander's head and twisted, the sickening crack proving he'd done the job.

_I'll have to dismember him in case this and the next thing isn't enough to permanently kill him, but first things first._

The ship was still moving, gathering speed as it slipped away from the pier – and the Scourge couldn't get onto the boat now. That was vitally important. Angel looked out onto the Beacon – it was still glowing, still gathering strength for the upcoming explosion. Angel looked into the hold and saw Doyle on the upper railing, his Brachen face on display, his legs bent, ready to lunge and jump onto the device -

“Doyle! Don't do it!” Angel shouted, grabbing the Scourge commander and  _hurling_  him into the device with as much strength as he could muster. The demon crashed into the device, the control panel sparking and breaking – with a fast, high-pitched screeching whine, the device went dark.

It was over, at last.

**December 1st, 1999  
Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

Getting back to shore hadn't been the easiest of undertakings – in the end, he and Doyle taken one of the ship's lifeboats and gotten back to L.A. Harbor that way. They'd made sure to land quite a long distance from Pier 12, though. Neither of them had wanted to end up anywhere near where the Scourge was.

It was now many hours later – well into the afternoon – and they were both in the upper level of Angel's apartment, along with Harry. Both of them had slept, et cetera. Doyle had called Harry after they were away from the ship and the Scourge, to let her know that the Listers were on their way to their chosen sanctuary. Angel had heard the woman's sigh of relief, even standing away from the phone. How much of the sigh was for the Listers was an interesting question.

But now Harry was here. Angel supposed he should have expected her to stop by at some point, but to be honest, he hadn't really thought about it. Doyle had busied himself making her coffee as she sat down on his couch. Angel didn't sit.

“Those Lister Demons. They're going to be alright?” Harry asked after a long moment of silence.

“Well, they'll get to their destination. I don't know if Briole will be the sanctuary for them they expect, but they'll get there. 'Big Randy' may be kind of a lowlife, but he keeps his word. And...” Angel offered a small smile, “well, he's kind of terrified of me.”

“Given who and what you are, that's not exactly hard to believe.” Harry replied as Doyle returned with a cup of coffee for her, which she accepted gratefully. Doyle sat down in a chair a bit away from the couch. “I'll admit...I'm a little freaked at the idea of being in the same room as the Scourge of Europe. Even though I know you're not going to kill me or anything.”

 _I never liked that name._  Angelus hadn't either, really. He'd preferred to be feared by his own name, not some title. He'd liked the fear that came with the title, sure; it had led to people giving him that title, but he hadn't liked the title itself. Angel liked it even less, though invoking it came with added intimidation value. Lots of demons and vampires had heard of 'Angelus' but even more had heard of 'The Scourge of Europe' or 'The Whirlwind'.

 _I have to admit, the four of us got up a lot of sick shit over those two decades._  Of course, the Whirlwind's tenure had been merely a short fraction of the length of his and Darla's time together. Spike had still been quite young for a vampire, by the time those Kalderash gypsies had cursed Angelus. Their brief reunion during and after the Boxer Rebellion didn't entirely count.

 _Those are crimes I really do have to atone for._  Yes, he'd fed on human criminals, those who were murderers and monsters, but still. They were sins still weighing against him – and even if he'd been inclined to, he couldn't cast those crimes onto Angelus.

“I'm not surprised.” Angel said after a moment. “Most humans who know my reputation wouldn't want to be in the same room as me, soul or not. Even a lot of vampires and demons didn't like hanging around me when I was Angelus. Had a fondness for killing things that pissed me off, whatever the species.” Of course, the commander of the Scourge had pissed him off and then he'd killed him, so it wasn't something he'd entirely outgrown.

_Though I never killed Xander. So there's that._

“Francis said you killed one of the commanders of the Scourge.” Harry said after a moment. Doyle's brow furrowed a little as she referred to him by that name, but didn't react otherwise.

“Killed him and then threw him at their magical light-bomb.” Angel said. “Your friend was right – that thing was insanely fragile.”

“You threw –” Harry blinked. “You  _threw_  him at their device?”

“Had damn good timing with it, too.” Doyle said before Angel could say anything. “I was –” He bit his lip and cut himself off.

“He was just about to jump onto the thing to take it apart, probably. Or something.” Angel finished for the half-demon. He understood why Doyle didn't want to talk about it, especially not around his ex. And he understood fully why the man had been all too willing to do it. Dying to save people from the Scourge? If that wasn't something that would balance the scales for what he'd done before getting the visions, Angel wasn't sure what would.

But atonement didn't have to mean death. And he was just as glad Doyle was still alive – not just because he wouldn't lose his link to the 'Powers that Be', but because, as he'd been admitting more and more often to himself recently, even to others in passing, Doyle was his friend. Losing him would have been bad all on its own.

“You were going to commit –” Harry cut herself off, as she looked at Doyle in disbelief. “What the  _hell_  were you thinking?!” She raised her voice, looking like she was about to stand up and start berating Doyle properly.

“I was thinking that someone had to save those people!” Doyle replied quickly, his voice raised just as much. “I didn't know Angel had the commander of the Scourge on hand to throw at the thing!”

Angel raised his hands and took a step closer to the two of them. “If you two want to argue about this, please wait until I'm downstairs, at least. Or better yet, do it out in the hall or something.”

Harry turned away from Doyle, then settled back into her seated position on the couch. After a moment, she nodded.

“This is going to paint a big target on your back, Angel. You know that, right?” Harry said softly. “The Scourge isn't going to just forget about this. You humiliated them, took their prey out from under their noses, killed one of their leaders and then destroyed one of their techno-mystical devices. They'll come after you eventually.”

“They might.” Angel agreed.

“They  _will_.” Harry repeated. “I spent most of the night and morning researching the Scourge. They don't give up. Every retreat is just a regrouping. They'll come after you again, and probably sooner rather later.”

“Well, if they do, Angel will find a way to deal with them.” Doyle said, shrugging. “He's a Champion and all.”

“You were prepared to give your life to save those Listers, Doyle.” Angel said, as he started heading down to the lower level of his home. He then said over his shoulder, “Don't undersell yourself.”


	2. Rude Awakening

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own Angel the Series

**Author's Note:**  Welcome to Chapter 2 of the Flip Side. We've had an intense couple of ICC chapters over in season 2 – this one won't be quite as intense, and the drift won't be quite as severe as the change of 1x09's rewrite last chapter (then again, I saved Doyle's life. That's a pretty big deal, hard to top it!).  
 **Author's Note 2:**  After some checking, I found no indication of what Harriet's maiden name is. And since she's not married to Doyle anymore, nor did she get married to Richard Straley, it would make sense that she's using her maiden name. So I made one up.  
 **Author's Note 3:**  Thanks to Starway Man and deiticlast for beta-reading and creative consultancy services.

 

**This Chapter is A Rewrite of Episode 1x11, “Somnambulist” from Angel.**

The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side

By Alkeni

Chapter 2: Rude Awakening

Getting kidnapped recently had not been an especially fun experience for Doyle. As the Irish half-demon had said – repeatedly – to Angel in the aftermath of being knocked out, and then having his  _eyes_  put up for auction.

If it hadn't been for Harry's knowledge of demon languages, Angel knew he might not have gotten there in time, because he wouldn't have known to look for auctions. But thanks to her help, Doyle's life and eyesight had been saved. A fact that Harry was quite happy about. Getting her help on the job was becoming more frequent, and Angel was starting to wonder if it might be a good idea to start bringing her into the loop whenever Doyle had a vision, or they went after some demon. You never knew when she might know something that could help.

_She's almost as useful as a Watcher_. More useful in some ways, actually. Nowhere near as good with the obscure prophecies or the dead languages, sure – she only read Latin, among the dead human languages – but she also had a much, much more useful perspective on demons. Here in L.A., the line between good and evil wasn't as simple as demon and human, the way it usually was in Sunnydale. Wolfram and Hart proved that – and they'd been there, bidding on Doyle's eyes and probably the other merchandise. And many, mostly peaceful demons had been the victims in that whole mess as well.

Harry approached demons on a clan by clan basis, as subjects of study interesting in their own way, not just as threats that needed to be understood for fighting and killing them. So yes, she was actually more useful than a Watcher, for the work that he did here in L.A. Not that it was 'work' per se, not really. It was a...a calling from mysterious unnamed beings that gave Doyle visions of people in peril. It was helping the hopeless; showing people, as Doyle had once said, that there was still good in the world. Not just saving lives. Saving souls.

And maybe his in the bargain, eventually, though Angel doubted he'd ever be able to atone for everything Angelus had done. A hundred and fifty years of unspeakable evil was impossible to make up for, really.

**January 19** **th** **, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

“You've been havin' dreams? Of killing people?” Doyle shrugged, “Well, I'm not exactly an expert on dreams, but I'm pretty sure they draw from your own life experiences. And you've got a lot of life experiences to draw from.” Which would be why Doyle was here to begin with. Why the Powers, or whoever it was that was sending him the bloody migraines with pictures attached, had sent him to Angel in the first place.

“Maybe. But I'm not dreaming about what Angelus did, Doyle.” Angel disagreed, dropping down into a chair. “I'm dreaming about killing people here, now, on the streets of L.A. Streets I recognize.” Angel reached into his coat and pulled out one of the local sensationalist crime rags. Doyle recognized the issue – he'd seen it, the new 'Pope' killer everyone was talking about, marked his victims with a cross cut into their cheek.

“This is one of the people I killed in my dreams, Doyle.” Angel told him softly. “Found that last night, after I took out the vampire you had a vision of. And that mark... back in the day, Angelus used to love marking his victims like that.”

“Huh. Why mark them with a cross, though? You weren't exactly doing God's work back then. Still can't hold a cross.” Which would be why he had one on him. Doyle trusted Angel – had to. And of course, as a half-demon, his blood wouldn't be very appetizing to a vampire. But he was also a man who, if he had a choice, did like staying alive. He'd been willing to die to save those Lister demons from the Scourge... and he'd been so driven by a desire to make up for his mistakes the last time the Scourge were in town, that he'd even been almost upset with Angel for stopping him.

But most of the time – he liked his life. More now, in some ways, dangerous work and migraines with pictures aside. Hence the cross – not just for run of the mill vamps he might run into, but also in case Angelus ever came back out to play.

“It wasn't about doing God's work. It was about mocking God.” Angel corrected. “I have no memory of killing these people, but...” He dropped the newspaper. “The dreams, the mark. What if I'm doing these in my sleep? I enjoyed killing my victims in the dreams. Their fear. The taste of the blood right before they die...”

Doyle picked up the paper and opened it. Vampires slept during the day – mostly. But they also slept during that twilight time before dawn... and according to the paper... that was when the victims were dying.

_Not a very good sign._

“You're not doing this yourself, but while you're sleeping... some kind of sleep walking?” Doyle asked uncertainly.

“That's what I'm afraid of. And there's only one way to be sure.” 

Doyle wasn't an idiot. He acted like one sometimes, but he could follow Angel's logic through. “Watch you through the night? And if you are... doing this, Angel?” Even putting on his full half-demon appearance wouldn't give him the strength to take on a truly determined Angelus.

“I have chains.” Angel replied simply. 

Doyle blinked.  _He has chains? And that would be... why? What, did he and his Slayer ex used to play Mistress of Pain all night or something?_  Doyle frowned as that thought came to mind, and shoved it away - he didn't want to think on that, so he didn't. He just listened as his undead friend added, “I made sure they were strong enough that I wouldn't be able to break them.” Yup, that sounded like the brooding Angel he knew. Just as Doyle had been told how to contact the Slayer named Faith, in Sunnydale, if Angelus came back. Angel took precautions. Smart precautions at that.

“I hate to ask, buddy, but do you want me to call the Slayer to come to town? Either one?” Doyle's tone was careful.

Angel shook his head. “If it is me... the best thing to do might be to call their Watchers. I have Giles' number written somewhere. One of them might be able to figure out how to stop it, if there is a way to. If there isn't a way to stop it...” Angel nodded. “Then...”

“Aye, and isn't that a lovely thought.” Doyle commented darkly.  _I need a drink._  Kinda odd how he'd been avoiding alcohol more and more recently. It wasn't that he didn't drink anymore – not drinking at all wasn't an especially appealing option – but nowadays, he didn't drink as much as he did before he and Angel had started with whole Dynamic Duo thing. It hadn't been a conscious choice, really. He'd just...

He just hadn't wanted to.

Doyle wasn't much for self-reflection. He left that to Angel. But he did know that since he'd started with Angel, he'd been more focused. The visions were a pain, and he'd really rather not have them, but they did give him a – purpose. And he was making up for the mistake that still haunted him. Not to mention his other, many, poor decisions. And...

Try as he might to ignore it... well, it  _had_  been about seeing Harry again too. 

Seeing her again had reminded Doyle of the happiness he'd had with her, before things had gone totally downhill. And how much he'd changed since then. It wasn't that he wanted to start things back up with Harry – he'd let her go because it was time to do just that, even though her would-be marriage to that Straley character hadn't worked out. But he'd once had a stable and happy life. He wasn't going to be able to have it all back, but maybe he could have some of it again eventually.

But with this latest revelation, and what Angel was asking of him?  _I'm going to need a drink._  And, Doyle thought, place a call to Harry. To let her know what was happening, just in case.

“I can't say it's very appealing, true.” Angel agreed with Doyle's previous statement. “But it is what it is, so...”

Doyle found himself nodding. “If I'm going to be keepin' an eye on you all night, then I'm going to need coffee. You're starting to run low. And I'm going to need a drink.”

Angel, to Doyle's great lack of surprise, showed no reaction to that. One of the things he'd liked about the vampire from the start. They were friends, now, but the other man had never once shown any interest in trying to talk Doyle out of drinking liquor, or trying to stage some sort of intervention or whatever. Or even show much in the way of disapproval. Hadn't even shown much disapproval about Doyle's... debt issues. 

Oh, sure, Angel  _had_ asked him why he lived like that, but hadn't done anything more than that.  _Hasn't done much to help me either._  But it had worked out. As he'd told Angel – his debts usually worked in favors. He helped someone, that went up and down the line, and some of the money he owed someone went away. He'd just needed more time away from the bloody debt collectors.

“Just make sure you're back before sundown. That's the time to...chain me up.” Angel stumbled a little over the last few words.

“I'll be back with time to spare.” Doyle agreed.

**January 20** **th** **, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

Harriet Abrams hadn't actually gotten that much sleep last night.

Usually, she slept pretty well, despite how she studied demons for a living. While she preferred to study and interact with the peaceful clans, she also had to learn about a lot of... disturbing things. But she didn't really have to face them. She read about them and heard about them.

But she hadn't slept well last night because of the revelation that Francis had given her. That Angel was killing people in his sleep. Or at least, he might be. He'd told her as a 'just in case', and Harry appreciated that. Despite herself, she couldn't help but be interested in what Angel did (and what he was). It was an opportunity to learn about demons she rarely had cause to study – or chance – and of course, from a scholarly perspective, it was a perfect opportunity to learn about vampires. And for that matter, a chance to learn about 'souls' – not that Harry really believed in souls, in the strictest sense of the word.

She'd wanted to start bombarding Angel with questions, but she had been fairly quick to realize that no, that was probably  _not_  a good idea. So she was content with observation. Which was easier to do when Angel and Francis brought her into the loop on the things they did. To protect the innocent and fight evil demons and all that.

But the revelation that Angel might be killing people in his sleep... well, that wasn't really something she liked to hear. Especially not when Francis had added that he'd been keeping an eye on the sleeping Angel, to make sure nothing happened. Chained up vampire or not, Harry couldn't help but be worried about her ex-husband's safety.

And of course, if Angel really  _was_  killing people in his sleep... well, she'd done her research into Angelus's past. He'd gotten up to some pretty sick stuff, and the new 'Pope' killer that Angel was afraid he might actually be...

But, as it turned out... that wasn't actually the case. Harry was happy – well, no, 'happy' definitely wasn't the right word to use – to have learned there'd been news reports of a dead body with the Pope killer tells being found in an alley. Because it meant it wasn't Angel doing the killing, if nothing else.

“There's good news... well, as good a news as this can be.” Harry said, handing Francis the newspaper. “There's been another death. And I'm guessing Angel didn't get out.”

Francis shook his head. “He didn't.” She watched him look at the newspaper, the front page story. Another Pope killing. He frowned, “Good news, but not, you're right.” Francis let out a sigh. “Well, at least we know that Angel didn't do it.” He started to reach for one of the manacles, to undo it.

Harry couldn't help but take a step back, startled when Angel suddenly spoke: “Yes I did.” Both from the words, and the fact that she'd thought he was still sleeping.

“I was here the entire night, buddy boy, and I was awake the whole bloody time. You didn't get out and kill anyone!” Francis exclaimed. Still, Angel's words were enough to stop her ex-husband from unchaining Angel.

“No, you don't understand. The vampire that's doing this? It's one that I sired, one I taught, back in the 1700s.” Angel clarified. “Penn.” 

The name didn't mean anything to Harry, but then, she didn't know everything there was to know about Angel. She'd heard about the Whirlwind, read about some of the exploits Angelus had gotten up to with Darla, Drusilla and William the Bloody. But she didn't know that name.

“Well, now I'm confused. If he's the one doing this, then why are you having the dreams?” Francis asked, undoing one of the manacles. “Does he know you're here? Is he trying to draw you out?”

Angel shook his head. “No, I don't think so. I have a connection with those I sire. All the dreams mean is that he's close.”

“A connection? Like, a real psychic connection between two vampires based on the siring bond?” Harry wished she could write that down right now, but she didn't have anything to write it with or on. She'd just have to remember it for  later, when she was in that janitor's closet that masqueraded as her office in an unused basement within the UCLA campus.

_Okay, so it's not_ _ **quite**_   _that small._   _But it's hardly a room with a view either!_  It wasn't like there was a lot of demand for ethnodemonology, though, so she had to be satisfied with what she could work with. She watched as Francis undid the last manacle, and Angel sat up, rubbing his wrists just a little.

“I've never heard of anything like that.”

Angel shrugged. “It's not really common knowledge. Most vampires don't have it, and it's not always very strong. But thing is, I mentored Penn for years before he went off on his own; I was looking for a worthy protégé at the time. Darla didn't have it with me, but Drusilla did.” Angel shrugged again. “Penn's first victims, after I sired him, were his family. And these victims... they look almost exactly like his family.” His voice got softer. “I don't know how I didn't see it before, from the paper, but... he's reliving it. Penn's killing them again, and marking them the same way I showed him how to.”

“You're going to kill him, then.” Francis wasn't asking a question.

“Well, I can't just let him keep doing what he's doing.” Angel confirmed. “It's my fault that he's out there, killing people.” To Harry's ears, that didn't make much sense. She could understand why Angel would feel responsibility and guilt for what Angelus did – and he might even be responsible for it, in a very real sense. But Angel wasn't the one killing these people. It was this 'Penn' character.

“You'll want to make sure you find him before the police do, then. This 'Pope' killer is making the news. They're going to want him off the streets as soon as possible. And they have no idea what they're up against.” Actually, Harry suspected that at least a few LAPD cops knew something of the truth about the supernatural, but probably not that much, and even more importantly, they weren't telling other cops. That was a one-way ticket to a mental asylum, or at least a sure-fire way to get canned from the job. “Does your connection make it possible to track him?”

Angel shook his head. “It's not that useful, or that specific.” The vampire blinked as a lightbulb seemed to go off in his mind. “The police. Kate.”

_Who?_  “Kate?” Harry did a double take.

“Detective Kate Lockley.” Francis explained. “We've ended up working with her a bit recently. She seems to have a knack for getting involved in a lotta cases that end up being connected to the supernatural. But she doesn't know about all this, or what Angel is.” He turned to look at Angel. “And you can't just go in there and tell her, boyo. You can't just tell her that the killer is a vampire almost as old as you are, and you know it because you saw it happen in a dream. I don't care if she's got a thing for you; she'll throw you in lockup straightaway. Which usually has windows facing east. Or an asylum, which won't be much better.”

_This cop has a thing for Angel?_  Well, Harry supposed she could understand that, somewhat. Angel was handsome, certainly, and she knew that some women went for the brooding, mysterious guy mystique that Angel put out. Personally, Harry found the whole thing unappealing – Francis' constant brooding and bitchiness after finding out what he was had been why they'd broken up in the first place.

“She doesn't have a thing for me, Doyle!” Angel insisted. “She's a friend, an ally. Kate trusts me – I think. I should be able to get her enough information that the police can track him, make it harder for him. I know exactly what Penn looks like. I can give her a sketch –”

“Denial? She has a thing for you, Angel. What with your looks and that brooding, mysterious Dark Avenger thing you've got going for you, trust me; the lass is feeling  _something_  for you.” Francis disagreed. “Who wouldn't? But that's not the point. As long as you don't tell Police Lady what she doesn't need to know, it should work out –”

“Seriously? You're planning to send her after this Penn vampire without knowing what she's going up against? What, are you going to tell her to stay back, because he's dangerous? You really think  _that's_  going to work?” Harry didn't know anything about this 'Kate' person, but still – if she was a cop, and one that Angel considered a friend, she wasn't likely to be someone who just ran and hid at the first sign of trouble. Or someone who would hang back if things got rough.

And just the idea of keeping her out of the loop – that bothered Harry on a pretty fundamental level. If there was one thing she'd always hated, it was being kept in the dark 'for her own good'. It was things being kept from her. Yes, she hadn't been remotely in favor of the idea of Richard eating Francis' brains, but what she'd  _really_  been very bothered by was the fact that he'd kept it secret, and had planned to just never mention it. And this –

She could understand Angel not telling this female cop he was a vampire. But if the police were chasing after this guy, this undead serial killer who had made headline news, then things were about to clash in a big way. And Angel should tell this plain-clothes detective what she needed to know.

Angel and Francis said nothing for a moment, “Probably not.” They then said in near unison.

“You've got a point, Harry, but – how is Tall, Pale and Handsome here going to convince her to listen to him? She isn't exactly going to just stand there and believe 'vampire' without proof.” Francis added. “This isn't exactly information that goes out onto the public airwaves – you can't just tell people and expect 'em to believe it!”

“One cop isn't 'people',” Harry disagreed, “and Angel's got proof. He  _is_  proof.” She turned slightly and said to him, “If it's what you have to do, then show her your vampire face. This Detective Lockley person needs to know exactly what she's going to go up against, if you want her to help flush this Penn vampire out for you. Anything else is just...using her as bait, or something!”

**January 20** **th** **, 2000**

**Kate Lockley's Desk, LAPD 12th Street Station House, Los Angeles**

Detective Lockley picked up her phone on instinct when it rang, barely even registering the act. “Lockley,” she answered automatically.

“Kate.” Angel's deep male voice was easy to recognize. 

The blonde instantly knew this wasn't a social call. Angel didn't do social – which would be the only reason a man like him was still single, of course. “What can I do for you?” Despite her initial suspicion of the man, Angel was one of the good guys. Even if he still didn't have much in the way of a real existence to show for himself. If he needed a favor, she was willing to listen, at least.

“Are you involved in the investigation into the killer the papers are calling 'the Pope'?” Angel asked over the phone line.

Kate felt her eyes narrow at little at that. “I'm leading it. But it's an ongoing investigation, so I can't tell you anything.” Not that there was much to tell, anyway. The killer was meticulous, and left no useful evidence. And it wasn't possible to build a victim profile, either. They had absolutely nothing in common, apart from being dead and the cross that sick bastard carved into their cheeks.  _Thinks he's doing God's work._  Kate was a believer, yes, but a very lapsed one, and sometimes she doubted. But she didn't doubt that whatever this guy thought, there was a place in Hell reserved for him, and she looked forward to expediting his trip downstairs by catching him and presenting for him for trial. The D.A. was already planning on pressing for the Death Penalty.

_If I could only catch him_. Still, why would Angel want information on this particular killer?

“No, Kate, I don't need information. I  _have_  information. On the killer.” 

Kate stiffened, immediately sitting up straight in her chair. She had no reason to doubt him. Angel wouldn't lie about that – really, he hadn't lied to her at all, apart from saying that he was a veterinarian back in that damn club, but that had been because he was trying to find a killer. Since then – truth.

“I'm all ears, Angel. Talk to me!”

“It's, it's not exactly something I can tell you over the phone. It's a little more... complicated than that.” Angel said with hesitation. Kate's instincts screamed to not trust that. But then, Kate's instincts screamed for her to not trust anyone ever, just about.

“You're not one to play games, Angel.” Kate's tone was terse, but she kept her voice low. Given that Angel didn't even have the official paperwork to be considered a PI, working with him was something of a grey-area for her, and she didn't need to get any shit from her fellow detectives about that. Or from the Captain. He hadn't really claimed to be a PI, either; just an 'investigator', and as he'd said, it was 'more or less'.

_That sort of thing usually sets off your alarm bells, Kate._  And it had here, too; even though part of her had insisted on believing he was innocent even from the start, rationalizing things away initially.

_And as it turns out, he is one of the good guys. He didn't kill those people, and he's helped me out since._

“I'm not playing games here.” Angel assured her. “It's just a little hard to believe, and I... I can't show you the proof over the phone.”

Kate considered. She didn't think Angel was lying, so at the very least he  _thought_  the information he had needed to be given in person. And it wasn't like she was getting any leads just sitting here... so it made the most sense to go and find out what it was that Angel had to tell her.

“Alright. I'll meet you –”

“Upper level of my apartment.” Angel told her. “Please hurry.”

**January 20** **th** **, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

_This is a bad idea._

Well, it probably was, anyway. But Harry had had a point, unfortunately. Kate  _was_  the sort of woman to go charging in, regardless of how dangerous it was. Of course, Doyle was right too – there were risks in telling her. If he told her Penn was a vampire, the best way to prove that vampires existed was to show her what he was. Which could lead to problems. Kate was a cop. If he told her he was a vampire, and that vampires were evil, soulless killing machines bent on murder for their own enjoyment... even if he convinced her he himself wasn't evil, Angelus' crimes were going to come up sooner or later.

And there was always the real risk, when someone with enough strength of will found out about the supernatural. The risk that she'd take it upon herself to go after vampires on her own. He had seen it too often, as Angelus and as Angel. Someone with a bit of knowledge about vampires, and a determination to get rid of them... but without  _enough_  knowledge, without  _enough_  caution – which he sometimes wondered if Kate lacked...

He'd just have to make sure he told her everything after this was done, assuming he got the chance. And hope that she didn't start taking up demon and vampire hunting in her spare time to the point where it got her killed.

_And hope that she believes me when the evidence stares her in the face._

Telling her might not be the best of ideas – but if he didn't tell her, and she found out what Penn was, what  _he_  was, and that he hadn't told her... that could ruin their working relationship. Angel didn't like that idea. Having a friend on the force made things easier, in terms of the mission. Kate was a friend and an ally, and as he'd said, she trusted him. He hoped.

He heard and smelled Kate approaching the door long before she actually opened it and walked inside. Harry and Doyle were down on the lower level. Angel didn't need any interruptions, or them chipping in with comments and observations. Not right now, anyway.

“Angel.” She closed the door behind her.

“Kate.”

“Are you okay?” She asked carefully, looking him over. “I mean, not that the brooding man of mystery thing doesn't work for you. It does. A lot.” She shook her head slightly, a very small smile Angel suspected was unconscious on her face. “You said you knew something about my case?”

“I do.” Suddenly, Angel found himself wondering if Doyle was right in his suspicions that Kate had a 'thing' for him. But if so, it wasn't particularly important. It wasn't like he was unused to getting interest from the opposite gender, however much he usually didn't like said attention. He reached into his coat and pulled out the sketch he'd made of Penn. Like all his sketches, it was exactly like the subject of the drawing, exactly like the undead killer he'd known two centuries ago – perfect memory had its benefits, even if it also had many, many downsides. “Your case – have you made any progress? Any leads?” He knew what the answer would have to be, but...

He was stalling. He knew it.

“No. The investigation's going nowhere. Some of your more inconsiderate serial killers often fail to leave us any clues.” Even Kate seemed to realize her attempt at humor was falling flat, judging by the slight frown on her face, and the furrow in her brow.

“Kate, do you trust me?” Angel could only hope the answer was yes, or this might be a very short conversation.

“You know I do.” Kate replied simply, and he heard no waver in her voice. Her expression – as far as he could tell, she was being honest. If Angel still breathed, he'd have let out a sigh of relief.

“Then trust me when I tell you that this is your killer.” He handed her the folded up paper, and Kate opened it, looking at it, then back up at him, brow furrowed even more in confusion.

“Angel, how is it you have this?” Kate's tone was confused, but entirely professional now. “How could you possibly know-?”

_Moment of truth_. Angel suspected if he insisted hard enough, and didn't answer the questions with real answers, he could still get her to take him seriously. But...

_Harry has a point. So does Doyle._  There was only one way to find out who was more right. And... given Kate's habit of ending up in the middle of cases that intersected with the supernatural... she deserved to know, before she got herself killed.

“I know he did it, because I've seen his handiwork before.” Angel said, more or less truthfully. “I know he did it because I saw him do it before – two hundred years ago, in Ireland.”

_Oh, I really hope Kate will be able to accept this._  Of course, she had already been able to help him more than once. She could help more once she knew. If she was still willing to work with him, anyway.

“Angel, what the hell are you talking about?” Kate demanded, though she hadn't raised her voice. “You're talking nonsense.”

“No I'm not. Your killer is a man called Penn. Except he's not a man, he's a vampire.” Angel needed to give her proof. He was about to go the direct route, and show her his other face, his game face, when he saw the small silver cross on a chain around her neck. That would do for a start. It would hurt, but it would also make his point. Hopefully.

Moving quicker than the human eye could follow, Angel reached out and grabbed the cross, holding it in a fist, gritting his teeth against the pain as the holy icon burned into his flesh, the sound and smell of sizzling flesh accompanied by a bit of smoke rising up from his closed fist. After a few seconds, Angel stepped back and opened his hand, showing her the cross-shaped burn that was going to smart for a day or two.

“Penn is a vampire. So am I. Hence how I know, how I was around to see him do this two hundred years ago.”

Kate didn't believe him, he could tell even before she opened her mouth. “God, Angel, I never took you for a crazy –”

“There's a detail missing from the police reports in the papers. Two small puncture wounds on the neck.” Angel interrupted. “And the victims – every single one of them has been drained of their blood.” He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes. “How am I doing so far?”

“How can you- you think knowing that makes me believe you? You're coming to me, telling me something completely insane and knowing things you could only know if –”

Angel growled in frustration – even though he had known it might come to this – and donned his vampiric face, his eyes yellow, fangs extended. There was no mistaking it for human, and it had happened instantaneously. On instinct, Kate's hand flew to her service weapon and she drew it, pointing it at him.

“Go ahead and shoot. It won't accomplish much. Your bullets, all they're going to do is hurt me. You shoot the guy killing these people, he's just going to get up afterwards and tear your throat out.” Not that Angel especially wanted to  _get_ shot. It would hurt like hell, and it would ruin his clothes. Neither were things he especially looked forward to. “Penn is a vampire, and that weapon your holding is going to be useless against him. It's going to take a wooden stake in the heart, direct sunlight, decapitation or fire to kill him.”

“You're telling me children's stories, Angel.” Kate replied, but he could hear the slight shake in her voice. Her disbelief was cracking. Kinda hard not to when you were looking a demon in the eye.

Angel shook his head as he returned to his human guise. “I just gave you proof that this world contains  _vampires_  in it! What more do you need to believe me? That cross around your neck can't burn normal people, you  _know_  that. But it can me. Because I'm not human, and I just showed you that. The world is a hell of a lot scarier than you think, and if you're not prepared to handle it? Then you'd better back off of this case and hand it over to someone in the know, or you're going to end up dead.” Angel wished he'd had some kind of metal bar or something handy to help make his case. “There's a reason you don't ever see me in direct sunlight, Kate.”

“You expect me to believe that vampires are real, that  _you're_  a vampire. That's just –” Kate shook her head, but he could hear the shaken resolve in her voice.

“It's the truth. So you can either believe me or you can start pretending it's not real, like most people do.” Angel replied. He had to get her to believe. “Your killer is a vampire, Kate, and he's recreating the way he killed his family, two hundred years ago. His next victim will be a white male, adolescent. He’ll take him off the streets in a low rent neighborhood. Probably near a bar or liquor store, and he’ll kill him just like he did the others. Drain them of their blood and mark them with the cross. It's not about doing God's work, whatever the papers say. Penn is mocking God, and if you don't listen to me on how to go about finding him, he's going to kill his next victim. And if you're gonna chase him down and you're not prepared to deal with reality,” the vampire adopted his demonic face again, “He's going to kill you too.” Angel moved like a blur past her, grabbing at the door handle. Before he could rip the door off its hinges, to prove his final point, Kate fired once, right into his shoulder. The force of the bullet's impact sent him reeling back a few steps.

_I made her jumpy._   _Too jumpy._  Not that he was having much in the way of coherent thoughts for the few seconds after getting a chunk of lead embedded into his shoulder.

Angel dropped back to his human face. “Ouch.” He said, gritting his teeth a little against the pain, but hoping he'd made a point.

Kate saw him, saw the lack of blood erupting from the gunshot wound. “You're not bleeding. You don't bleed –”

“No, I do. Just a lot slower than you. We don't have the same circulation, after all.” Angel said, grimacing from the pain. “Have I made my point yet?”

Kate shook her head and said, “This is insane,” but she seemed to be trying to convince herself of that more than anything else.

Angel shook his head in turn. “No. This is the real world.”  _God damnit that hurts._  He hadn't been shot by a pistol in years, and he'd forgotten just how much it smarted to have a bullet lodged against one of your bones.

Kate took a small, half-staggered step back, away from him. “Why did you tell me? Why are you – why tell  _me_?”

“Because you'd have found out, or gotten yourself killed going after this guy. And because I need your help to find Penn. He's got a whole city to select his target from, a whole city to hide in. I can't be everywhere, and I can't end him until I know where he is, and I'd rather not see him kill you if you go up against him unprepared.”  _And I need to make sure I don't have any more kills he makes on my conscience._  He already had, in so many ways, all the deaths at the hands of Drusilla and Spike, on his head as much as theirs. Everyone Penn had already killed. He had to stop that soulless killer, before more innocent people died. Saving lives. That was the point.

“It's not a happy truth, Kate.” Angel said softly. “But you're a cop. You're used to unhappy truth.”

“Yeah, but I... I can't just let you kill him. I'm a cop, not an accomplice to murder.” Kate said, obviously going on basic instinct. Automatic reflex.

Angel would have sighed if he'd been human. “Kate, listen to me. You  _can't_  arrest a vampire and put him on trial for murder. Even if you could keep Penn behind bars, which you almost certainly couldn't, the second the sunlight hit his cell window? He'd be gone, reduced to dust and ashes. You need to focus on the fact that Penn is killing innocent people – people it's your responsibility to protect. The only way that's going to end is when he's dust. Human laws apply to humans.”

Angel shook his head. “They don't apply to vampires – at all.”

**January 20** **th** **, 2000**

**Warehouse, Los Angeles**

Scaling the pipe to the roof of the warehouse the police had chased Penn into had been easy. Trying to figure out what room Penn was in was harder – or it had been until Angel heard Kate bark out an order, presumably to Penn:

“Don't move! Do not move! I will fire!”  __

_God damnit, Kate!_  He'd thought he'd convinced her. But then again instincts were hard to overcome, especially this early entering into the real world; and it wasn't easy to accept the abilities and limitations of the undead, even when they were staring you right in the face.

Angel tried to locate the sound of her gun firing, where to stand on the roof to be over it, and he was pretty sure he had it.  _She really didn't listen if she's using a gun. Damnit!_  Angel crouched down and punched into the roof, but it was sturdier than he expected, taking several hits before he could fall through it.

As luck would have it, Angel landed between Penn and Kate – she was prone on the ground, a stake lying next to her hand – and Penn was approaching her.  _Huh, maybe she did listen a little._  Penn must have shoved her across the room. But he didn't have much of a chance to examine Kate – she seemed alright, even though he had to focus on...

Penn approached him, then let out a laugh, “Angelus? That really you?” He laughed again. “Angelus!” Angel endured the vampire clapping him on the arm. Unfortunately, that meant there was no easy angle to get at Penn's heart. By the time he deployed a stake from the devices on his wrists, Penn would have seen it and moved.

_Wait, he didn't hear about my soul? He's been out of the loop, then._  Maybe he could use this.

“My God, it's been a lifetime!”  _And then some_. There was still an amused and happy chuckle in Penn's voice. His offspring was  _pleased_  to see him.

“At least.” Angel replied tonelessly.

Penn shook his head. “Seeing you after all this time. We were to meet in Italy, remember? You, and Darla as well.”  __

_Darla never liked you, Penn._  Then again, Darla had never really liked anyone Angelus had turned, not even Drusilla. It was really Darla that had been why he didn't meet with Penn back then, but he wasn't going to get into that now. The Kalderash cursing him had gotten in the way of that meeting too, of course, but...

“I remember.” He really didn't like having his past aired out. Sooner or later, he'd have had to tell Kate about Angelus, but this wasn't supposed to be the time.

“Well, I waited. Hell, I waited until past the end of the 19th century. What happened?” Penn didn't seem upset or bothered, just wondering and confused.

“Got held up in Romania.” Angel replied grimly. He took a step back.

“Romania?” Penn paused, again looking confused. “What's in Romania?”

“Gypsies.” Angel replied flatly. Penn nodded and looked past him, gesturing to Kate, who was talking into her radio.

“Request assistance. Full tactical unit, second floor, southwest corner...”

“Join me for a drink, Angelus?” He started to move towards the female detective, not waiting for an answer. Angel grabbed onto his shoulder with one arm and deployed a stake into the other.

“That's not why I'm here.” Angel told him coldly.

“Request assistance. Suspect sighted!” Kate said into her radio again, backing away in a half-seated position.

Penn narrowed his eyes. “Yea... so why are you here?”

Angel brought his stake up towards Penn's heart. “To kill you.” He snarled and donned his vampire face as Penn jumped back, evading the killing blow.  _Damnit. He's gotten a lot faster!_ Angel lunged at Penn again, tackling him to the ground as the slid across the floor towards the far wall. Penn punched at Angel's wrist, sending his stake clattering across the floor.

Pain exploded in Angel's head as Penn's fist connected with his chin and he fell back onto the floor again. Still, he was back on his feet quickly – and then he got sent back on the ground again by a kick that sent him sprawling.  _Son of a bitch. I may have taught the boy the tricks of the trade a little_ _ **too**_ _well!_

Trading more punches with the soulless killer, Angel managed to flip positions, getting Penn on his back. Standing over him, he punched the vampire in the face, once- twice-

Then Penn grabbed his arm and flipped them both over. Holding the other vampire at bay, Angel heard the sound of Kate starting to stand up. Angel grabbed onto Penn's shoulder with one hand and started to punch Penn in the face, keeping his childe's back to Kate and his attention on himself. He didn't see Kate – but after a few moments, he heard Penn cry out in pain as the stake slammed into his back – still, Angel could see that she'd missed the heart.

Penn jumped to his feet, snarling, then turned around and lunged at the weapon-less detective. Kate made a decent showing of herself, her police training serving her well – but not well enough. Angel was on his feet and grabbing Penn's back, pulling him away from Kate just before he could level a punch that would send her reeling (or possibly even kill her).

“Go! Kate, get out of here!” Angel barked at her, though he was afraid she wouldn't take his advice. He couldn't watch her to see if she would obey orders, because Penn was on him again.

“You know its name? Angelus, what's happened to you?” Penn pulled the stake out of his body, tossing it aside.

“People change, Penn.” Angel said calmly.

“We're not people!” Penn shouted furiously. Snarling, he lunged forward again; but before Angel could fend him off, the younger vampire had jumped up through the hole he'd made in the roof coming in.

Angel looked over at Kate; the detective slumped a little, her back to one of the support pillars. She was breathing heavily. He heard crackling over her discarded radio, lying some distance away on the floor, then a loud male voice coming through:

“Lockley. Lockley, where are you?!”

**January 20** **th** **, 2000**

**Warehouse, Los Angeles**

Kate had known what was coming, thanks to Angel telling her the truth; but even so, she simply wasn't prepared for what she'd seen. She knew that now. She hadn't been prepared for the speed and strength that the other vampire, Penn, had shown. The ferocity of his fight with Angel had been... inhumanly brutal.

_That... vampire... he knew Angel. Called him... Angelus._  Angel had said he'd seen Penn do this before. So it would make sense they'd know each other. But –

But it was more than that. The vampire – Penn – had initially reacted like a friend. He'd invited Angel to 'share a drink'...

She'd missed his heart. She'd have to do better next time. Against Penn or any other – God, now that she  _knew_  vampires existed... how many other crimes out there might be because of them? Missing persons – plus there were bodies that were found with no blood in them from time to time, most of the department knew but didn't talk about it...

Kate couldn't just turn a blind eye to it anymore. But she didn't have enough information.

Kate finished telling one of the officers what had happened. Well,  _lying_ to said officer about what had happened. The lies came too easily to her lips, but her choices weren't many. She'd made up her fabricated story, and she'd have to stick with it. For better or worse.

The officer nodded and rejoined the others combing the warehouse for evidence.

“They're not going to find much, if anything.” Angel said, approaching her. 

“You knew him. Well. He greeted you like a friend.” Kate told him, after turning to face her... acquaintance, not bothering to hide the accusation in her voice.

Angel nodded after a moment. “Yea, I knew him. I told you I did. Knowing him is how I knew he was doing this.”

“He invited you to 'share a drink' – of my blood. That's not just knowing. How does that work? How do you know him, exactly? And why did he call you Angelus?”

Kate watched Angel's face go completely blank for a moment at the mention of the name Penn had referred to him by. “That was the name I used to go by, when we last interacted.” 

Kate could immediately tell two things – one, Angel wasn't going to tell her more on that right now, and two, there was something there she needed to know. 

And she couldn't just interrogate Angel like she would someone else.  _Can't put him in an interrogation room anyway, and_ –

“What makes you not like him, exactly?” Kate asked, gesturing to the route Penn had escaped through. “He's feeding off the people he kills – what, do you feed off of willing donors or something?” Huh – that might be what Angel kept that alcoholic friend of his around for; Doyle, or whatever his name was. Or maybe the man could just use his looks and that whole brooding mysterious thing he had going for him to his advantage.

“I don't drink human blood.” Angel told her in earnest. “Vampires can subsist on animal blood, if necessary. Sure, very few ever  _choose_  to – you wouldn't want to get by on a diet of stale water and dry crackers if you didn't have to, would you? It's more or less the same thing for the undead.”

“I would if eating anything else meant killing people.” Kate replied coldly.

“Which is why I do it.” Angel replied. “But then, I'm not like other vampires.”

“Apparently.” If he was keeping something from her, then she'd have to find it out – and she wasn't going to be asking him answers to questions she could find elsewhere. If vampires existed, that information would be out there. There would be people who knew. Resources. “You should make yourself scarce. I've falsified enough evidence already.” Not that not falsifying the evidence could have worked. At the very least, she'd have been put on administrative leave. She didn't watch to see if he took her advice, turning to leave the warehouse.

**January 21st, 2000**

**Kate's Apartment, Los Angeles**

Goading Penn into trying something 'new' hadn't really been part of the plan, but that's what had happened anyway. And unless they could figure out just where it was Penn was hiding out, where he might be planning his 'worst possible thing you can imagine', then their chances of stopping it in a city this big? Very, very slim.

Which meant he needed Kate's help again, even more. Angel knew he had to warn her, too. Penn had gotten interested in who exactly his female companion in that warehouse had been, which meant Kate was a possible target. Angel hadn't given Penn what he wanted, but that didn't mean the undead villain might not try to find out her name another way.

_And I didn't tell her about the invite thing_. Hadn't really come up. Then again, he felt sure Kate wasn't going to invite Penn into her apartment, since she knew what he looked like. But it was something she needed to know anyway.

Angel's knock was answered by Kate opening the door. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed in casual clothing, a loose hoodie over her shirt.

“Hi.” He said as the door opened. “Can I come in?”

There was only a momentary pause. “Oh, that's right. You have to be invited in.” Kate let out a loud exhalation. 

“You've been doing your homework.” Angel observed. He shouldn't have been surprised. Kate was too thorough and methodical to not do her own research. He wondered what resources she'd used – hopefully what he'd told her and what she'd seen had been enough for her to direct her research down the most helpful ends.

“Wanna quiz me?” Kate demanded, the snark in her tone not just sarcastic but angry. “I'm just full of fun facts. For instance, I learned that your friend's been in L.A. before.”  __

_Penn isn't my friend._  Even when he'd been Angelus, Penn hadn't been his 'friend'. Angelus honestly hadn't done friends. Then again, that wasn't pertinent; Kate's statement was.  _How many times has Penn repeated this in L.A.?_

“At least twice.” Kate continued, as if reading his mind. “Once in 1929, and again in 1963.” Kate cocked her head to the side a little, bringing one finger to rest on her left temple. “Oh, and there was something in Boston in 1908. Pretty sure he was there too.”

_She knows._  There had to be a reason Kate was suddenly angry at him. She'd heard the name Angelus, and she'd been doing her research. His reputation had preceded him – still did, though he rarely tried to use it.

Instinctively, Angel checked her for a stake. He didn't see one on her, but –

“That's not too surprising. Apparently, he's been pulling the same stunt since the 1700s, back in Ireland.” Angel nodded. “But now he's planning something new –” 

Whether Kate knew about Angelus or not, Angel knew he needed her help. And she needed  _his_  help. She wasn't going to be able to take on a vampire as old as Penn on her own. Not this soon. For a human to take on a vampire like Penn, it took experience, preparation and numbers. Holtz would never have been able to become as much of a pain in Angelus and Darla's asses, after all, if it hadn't been for the militia that backed him up.

“Ireland, yeah.” Kate interrupted, her tone growing flatter, all sarcasm leaving it. “Home of another vampire I found out about. Angelus – the so-called Scourge of Europe. A particularly brutal bastard, by all accounts. Creative, too. That's what he called you – Angelus. It's all there, if you look in the right places. The demon with a face of an angel.” She put a hand on her hip. “So no, you can't come in.”

_I'm not Angelus._  But how was he going to explain all that to Kate? She'd clearly made up her mind – getting Buffy to listen, all those years ago, had been hard enough. And Kate wasn't Buffy. She had the suspicious, judgmental mindset which being a law enforcement officer bred, rather than a teenage girl with little experience in controlling her own hormones. Angel had seen it enough times in his life.

“I can't make up for the past, Kate, I know that –” He started, looking away from her for a moment, hoping he could convince her enough that she'd listen to him about whatever it was Penn was planning. The rest could wait until after Penn was dust.

“No, you can't. In fact, unless I miss my guess... what's happening now? It's basically your fault. 'Cause you're the one who made him. Turned him. That's the correct term, right?” There was nothing but an undercurrent of cold fury in her tone now.

“Yes. All true. I started this. Let me help end it. Please.” He looked her in the eye.

“Please.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, before returning to a normal volume. “Now there's a word I imagine you've heard a lot of in your time.” She met his gaze unflinchingly. “Please. No. Don't,” Kate shook her head. “I don't need your help anymore. On account of I know what to do now. When I find him, I'll fill that asshole full of lead – and then drive a stake into the son of a bitch's heart, once he's been completely incapacitated. And when that happens, I suggest you don't be there, or I might succumb to the temptation to do the same to you.” Before he could respond, Kate stepped back, slamming the door in his face.

Damn. This wasn't good.

But he couldn't blame Kate for reacting like that, after learning about what he'd done. What he'd been.

**January 22nd, 2000**

**L.A. Sewers beneath the 12th Street Station House**

Angel struggled against Penn's grip. The piece of sharp wood in Kate's hands made it pretty clear what was coming. If he really pushed it, he could break free of the younger vampire's hold; but this was the best chance for Penn becoming dust. If that meant he went with him, then that was what had to happen.

“You forget your own lessons, old teacher.” Penn taunted. “Never give up the advantage, remember?” He pushed Angel towards Kate, still holding on. “Living among them has made you  _ **weak!**_ ”  __

_Was he always this much in love with his own voice?_  Then again, as Angelus, he'd always liked to hear himself talk – and Penn had taken all his lessons straight from Angelus's teachings. Probably hadn't learned a thing on his own over the past two hundred years. That was actually... disappointing, in a twisted sort of way. After all, Spike and Dru were nearly a century younger, yet they'd learned while Penn hadn't –

“It sickens me to think that there was a time you would have done  _whatever_  was necessary!” Penn snarled, still pushing.

_I am, Penn._  Angel looked to the improvised stake in Kate's hands, then to the beautiful blonde herself.  _If that's what it's going to take..._

Kate charged at him – Angel braced himself...

And the sharpened wood passed diagonally up through his stomach and into Penn's chest – he heard the younger vampire explode to dust behind him, and then he was able to move, free of his childe's grip – and with a giant piece of wood sticking right through his insides, hurting like hell.

Gasping in pain – a purely instinctive reaction, of course – Angel staggered back. He looked just past Kate, having trouble seeing through the pain for the moment. “You missed.”

“No, I didn't.” Kate replied firmly. She grabbed the piece of wood and pulled it out of him, quickly – as it passed through his body in reverse, Angel couldn't help releasing another cry of pain. Then he collapsed onto the ground, still gasping.

“You've done some really fucking terrible things, Angel, and you can't make up for it.” Kate said between slow, heavy breaths, leaning back against the wall. “But you've also saved my life three times, and been helpful – I'm gonna guess, most of the cases you helped me on: supernatural in nature?”

Angel nodded slowly, wondering how long it was going to take this injury to heal. “Yea. That mob boss you sent me after was normal, but the whole... sensitivity training thing that happened? That was a curse.”

“Explains why no one tested positive for anything afterward.” Kate observed. “But just so it's clear, that's why I didn't shove that stake through your heart too. Because you're a... resource. Congratulations; you can now consider yourself an unofficial CI to the LAPD.”


	3. Coming To Terms

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own Angel the Series.

Thanks are extended to deiticlast and Starway Man, as always.

As always, I assume a certain level of familiarity with the episode being rewritten. I appreciate this puts a burden on the reader, but at the same time, there are whole scenes that it is just not worth re-writing, because they'll be far too close to canon (and without much immediate relevance) to be worth rehashing.

Also, if you haven't read Episode 14 of The Iron Coin Chronicles Season 2, I would suggest you do, though technically you don't have to – but it will make the first scene make more sense, as it is the first ever Flip Side/Mainline ICC crossover.

**This Chapter is a re-write of Episode 1x15 “The Prodigal”**

The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side

By Alkeni

Chapter 3: Coming To Terms

**January 25** **th** **, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

The sound of footsteps on the upper level of his apartment had Angel up and moving towards the elevator almost instantly. It didn't sound like Doyle's footsteps, and Harriet would have knocked first. It could be Kate... but he hadn't heard from Detective Lockley since she'd run him through the stomach, so she could get her improvised stake through Penn's heart.

She was probably just adjusting to her new reality. Still, sooner or later, he'd hear from her – she'd said as much after dusting Penn, after all.

_Congratulations; you can now consider yourself an unofficial CI to the LAPD_

He wasn't sure how Kate intended on that working, but he was more than willing to help her when the supernatural intruded on her cases. For one, she was one of the good cops - dedicated, unwilling to just let victims be names and faces in a file somewhere, and for another, having a cop as a friend... or at least an ally... would be helpful in his own efforts to save those people in Doyle's visions.

_I might have been able to call her 'friend' seven days ago, but I don't think that works anymore._

So it probably wasn't Kate up there.

He got his answer as he opened the elevator to go up.

“Yo! Angel!” Faith's voice echoed down from above. “You in?” 

 _Huh. Faith. What's she doing here in L.A.?_ Why hadn't she – or someone in Sunnydale – called ahead?

Angel pressed the button and stepped out of the elevator onto the upper level of the apartment. “Faith.” Angel said, stepping around the corner and seeing her standing in the front room near the door. She had a largish hammer in one hand, which she was swinging idly as she waited for him. “You know, I think I remember locking the door before I went downstairs.”

“Oh, you did.” Faith agreed. “Might want to get a better lock installed. It was pretty easy to pick.”

Angel considered asking her why she didn't simply knock, but after a moment, decided it wasn't worth the effort. Knocking really wasn't a 'Faith Thing' either, he supposed. As he looked at her, he realized, from her expression that -

“This isn't a social call. Something happen in Sunnydale? Is Buffy -”

“Buffy's fine.” Faith interrupted. “Whole gang's fine.. more or less. Okay, a whole bunch of things happened, but that's life on the Hellmouth for you. Oz died and Willow went all grieving zombie for about a month.” 

 _Oz is dead?_ Angel blinked. He'd never been especially close to the werewolf/musician, but he'd know how much he'd meant to Willow, and he'd liked Willow well enough. And at least Oz hadn't been one for excessive chit-chat.

“The big important detail for why I'm here is this.” Faith continued, then opened her other hand and took a step towards Angel. Resting on her palm was a brass ring with a green gemstone set on the top, the stone cased in with a criss-cross of more brass over the top. It was a relatively simple, almost unassuming little ring, but clearly it was important. “Spike dug it out of some hidden tomb or whatever months ago in Sunnydale.”

“What is it?”

“Gem of Amarra.”

Angel did a mental double take: Every vampire in the world that had lasted longer than a few months had heard of the Gem of Amarra. It was... legendary. The vampire version of the Holy Grail. And just as mythical, or so he'd previously thought. It was kind of the whole point. It was the story you told other vamps, the thing only the craziest ones went hunting for...

“Spike found it?” Spike wasn't an idiot, not technically, but he also wasn't the most studious of individuals. How could that particular vampire have figured out where it was? “And it really works? It's real?”

“Yea. The full package – stakes, sunlight, fire, getting your hand cut off. It handles them all. Doesn't stop 12,000 volts from dropping ya like a sack of potatoes, but that's about it, far as we could tell.” There was a story there – several, Angel suspected.

“Back when Spike found it, after we got it off him, B wanted to send it down to you, let you have the fun of being invincible while you do your thing here.” Faith closed her hand and lowered it down to her side, removing the Gem from view. “We talked about it, but Wes and Xander made the pretty good point that if Angelus ever showed up again...”

“The last thing you'd want is to have given me the Gem.” Angel nodded. That Xander had argued against him getting the Gem was completely unsurprising. That Faith's Watcher hadn't been fond of the idea was also unsurprising.  _Giles probably wasn't in favor of it, either, but didn't want to argue with Buffy over it._

“Yea. Even Buffy got convinced, eventually. But since you need a vampire to destroy it, Wes convinced us all to send it off to the merrie olde England and the Council – they've got some vault or whatever where they put dangerous crap like this. Didn't work out.” Faith dropped into an empty chair, letting out a long breath.

“That crazy vamp friend of yours, Drusilla. She got it from the Council people before it could get to their vault, then she came back to Sunnyhell with it.” There was something low and bitter in Faith's voice, and more than a bit of guilt – the guilt Angel especially noticed. It was an emotion he was, after all, quite familiar with.

“How bad?” Angel asked slowly. Drusilla wasn't all that bloodthirsty, compared to Spike... or himself, when he'd been Angelus. Or even Darla. She always acted on her whims, and most of the time was content to leave the majority of the killing to others.

“It could have been worse, I guess.” Faith admitted slowly. “Crazy bitch got it into her head that she wanted to kill me – got fucking obsessed with it. Spent a month playing hide-and-seek with her... any time I was alone and not behind a threshold, I'd have to worry about her coming out... but she stayed away, mostly, when I wasn't alone...” Faith shook her head and trailed off. “Playing bait was the only way to draw her out... I didn't want to do it...” 

Angel understood that logic. Playing bait was nice on paper, but it was risky to be the bait.  _And I should know, I forced enough of my victims to do that way back when... especially with Holtz..._

 

Faith released a hollow, humorless laugh, “But because I didn't play ball, Drusilla went into the mall in broad daylight, killed fifteen people, and used their body parts to spell out my name.”

Oh. Yea, that sounded more like Drusilla... when she got it into her head to kill someone as something other than a quick meal, she went out of her way to mess with their heads a lot of the time...  _She learned from a master of the craft._

“Why would she come after you, though? Far as I know, she didn't know you at all?” Angel asked musingly.

“She's crazy. What do you expect?” Faith demanded. “She kept calling herself my mother, since her killing Kendra made me a Slayer.” She shook her head, standing up. “Doesn't matter. She doesn't have the Gem anymore, and she's not gonna be a problem again anytime... ever.”

“She's dust?” There wasn't really any better option for her, Angel knew... his demented offspring was a soulless vampire. And one of the worst. But he still couldn't help but feel even more guilt at the idea of her being gone. After everything he'd put her through, it was just one more indignity for Dru to suffer.

“Not exactly.” Faith shook her head, “It's a long story, but that's not why I'm here.” She walked towards him, flipping the hammer easily in her hand so she was holding the heavy end and holding the handle out towards him. Unsure, Angel took the hammer, testing its heft for a moment for lack of anything else to do with it. Then Faith added, “All the stories say, apparently, that only a vampire can destroy this thing.” She walked by him and placed the Gem on his desk. “So, lift that hammer, smash it already and we can be done with this fucking thing.”

_Destroy the Gem of Amarra?_

For a moment, Angel could feel the demon that was always inside him raging even worse than usual, demanding he take the ring, use it. At the very least not destroy it.

And the rest of him...

He understood the logic of destroying it. But still... priceless, unique artifact. Ancient. Where it came from was a myth, but presumably at least one of the stories was true, which meant the Gem could date all the way back to the time right after the last of the Old Ones had left this reality. Granted, it probably wasn't that old.

But at the same time...

It couldn't fall into another vampire's hands, and...

While he certainly didn't plan on losing his soul anytime... ever, there were ways it could happen even if he stayed away from Buffy for the rest of her life. Spells. Demons. Rituals. And if Angelus ever had the ring...

He didn't need to  _imagine_  the horrors that could happen after that.

And simply having the ring would keep him a target. Every two-bit vampire with delusions of grandeur would come after him if word got out that he had it. And it would, sooner or later. Somehow.

And...

 _It's not like I actually deserve this thing._  It was a reward he hadn't earned – couldn't earn, really.

 

Not to mention, he somehow doubted Faith would actually let him keep the darn thing, which made all such thoughts a moot point.

“Alright.” Swinging the hammer, Angel smashed the Gem – a miniature wave of green light spread out in all directions as it was destroyed, but there was no explosion, no backlash. It was just... gone.

“Huh.” Faith said, looking at the crushed bits of green gemstone and brass sitting there. “I was expecting a bit more... something. Kind of anticlimactic, given how much trouble this fuckin' thing has caused.”

Angel shrugged, handing the hammer back to her. “Before you go... how is everything in Sunnydale? How's -”

“Buffy?” Faith finished. “She's fine, like I said. Doing the whole college thing.” She paused for a moment, hesitating, then added, “She's gotten herself a new boyfriend.” There was a slight hint of apology to her words, but only just. “Figured you should know.” Faith added, her voice slightly soft.

Angel didn't say anything for a long moment.

It hurt. Just even hearing that Buffy had moved on. Even though that was part of the reason he'd left... he couldn't give Buffy what she deserved. He wasn't sure anyone could, but he knew for sure that  _he_  couldn't, given... everything.

It was...

_Well, how am I supposed to react to this?_

“That's... that's good for her.” Angel managed to say after a moment.

“Don't strain yourself, Angel.” Faith said with a chuckle. “Don't have to pretend you like it. Just figured... since I was here, I'd let you know.”

“Appreciated.” Angel said, unsure if he meant it. It was like... a door closing. A book ending, actually. Sure, the story with him and Buffy was done. That was why he'd left. But...

That she'd moved on added a certain... finality to it all. A finality that hurt, as much as he should have – even had, in a way, expected.  _I guess I just didn't expect it to be this quick?_  But then, he hadn't given it much thought because it wasn't a subject he wanted to think about in much detail.

**February 22** **nd** **, 2000**

**Subway, Los Angeles**

“Crazy homeless guy, got on at Central Street Station.” The uniformed officer told Kate as they walked towards the stalled subway car, filling her in with the details of the current hostage situation. 

Kate bit her lip at the officer's dismissal of whoever was behind this as 'crazy homeless guy'. That sort of thinking was going to get him in trouble – you didn't underestimate people by just putting them in the box labeled 'crazy'. It was a bad habit to get into.  _Can get you get killed, even._

“Went nuts. Started tearing up the car, threatened some passengers.  It was one of them that pulled the emergency brake.  They’re all still pretty shook up.”  The uniform pointed ahead the people hurrying off of the stalled subway car as the two of them weaved through various civilians milling about the station, most of them behaving business as usual, as if there was nothing strange happening.

“What about the suspect?”  _So, not a hostage situation anymore? Or at least, not all of them._  That made sense. It was hard for one person to keep a whole group of people hostage, outside of pulling a gun in an enclosed area.

“Gone.” The officer replied simply.

Drawing up short, Kate turned, incredulous. She didn't know this particular officer personally, but the LAPD didn't just hire random people off the streets, put a uniform on them and let them loose on the city. It was a subway car. It wasn't like it was a building with multiple exits!

“The call said it was a hostage situation, right?” she demanded.

“It was.” The officer replied calmly.

“Then, what? The suspect escaped?”  _You let him escape?_  Kate knew it wasn't fair to judge without all the facts yet, but -

“Uh, we're still getting the whole story. It's... unclear.” The man said hesitantly.

“Unclear? You have two dozen witnesses!” Kate countered. Sure, there were going to be inconsistencies and issues getting a coherent story out of all of them if they were shaken up, but not enough to make things unclear!

“I know. And they're all saying the same thing.”

“Which is?” She demanded, rapidly losing all patience with the officer. He was wasting her time as he talked around whatever it was he was getting at. Clearly, there was some sort of problem with what the witnesses were saying, but he was annoying her more by beating around the bush than he could by just telling her  **what the witnesses had to say!**

“That the suspect went out the top vent while the train was still moving.”

“He climbed out of a moving train?”

“They're saying he was pulled out.” 

 _Pulled out? But what could have_ – A moment after those words left the officer's mouth, a sudden, worrisome thought hit her. Kate had no reason to believe  _he_  might be involved, but...

_Angel._

Certainly, someone or something else could have pulled their 'crazy homeless guy' out of the roof of the train – and the inclusion of 'something' in that was a recent development – but somehow... she just  _knew_  it was Angel.

Apart from briefly speaking to Angel about that young boy that had tried to kill his sister when they'd arrested him, she'd had no interaction with the vampire since dealing with the other one, Penn.

In that month, she'd noticed things. Cases that didn't really add up – she'd always seen and had those once in a while, but now... now she had to wonder if demons, or vampires or... whatever the hell else was real out there was involved somehow.

She had no reason to believe that Angel was involved in this case, but really, who else did she know would pull someone – or something – out through the top of a moving subway car?

“Pulled out by what?” She asked the uniformed officer, wondering which answer she actually wanted. The officer just shook his head a little, not speaking. Kate bit back the retort she wanted to give him and just turned away, dismissing him with a wave of her hand as she walked off. “Get statements.” She took a flashlight from one of the officers and flipped it on.

 _If he was pulled out, and he's not on the train now, then he's probably somewhere farther down the tunnel._  Kate brushed past the disembarking passengers of the subway car, moving down the line of cars, most of whom still had their occupants or were in the process of getting off now.

It wasn't until she was almost to the end of the train that she heard the sound of fighting – flesh hitting flesh, grunts of exertion – just up ahead. Putting on a little extra speed, she reached the end of the train just in time to see Angel shove someone against the wall, hard. They fell to the ground, and Angel was left standing not far from its prone form. By dress... and smell, it resembled a homeless person – the patchwork collection of badly maintained clothes, the long heavy coat – but...

That wasn't a human being. There was no way anyone who was paying attention, like she had been the last month, could mistake that for human. Now that she knew... and now that she was seeing...

 _God, I wish I could rationalize all this away._  This... demon wasn't especially horrifying in appearance, but what it represented, what it meant...

The... demon's prone form was lying there, unmoving.

“Well...” Kate said after a moment, eyes glued to the dead demon. “I guess I can forget about reading him his rights.” She looked over to Angel. “Is it -” She had no idea. Maybe demons didn't breathe? Or there was something special they did when they died? Did they even die?

“Yea. It's dead.” Angel confirmed.

“So... they do die, then?” Kate shook her head, realizing just how stupid that sounded, wishing she could take her words back. Just... she...

She'd thought she'd gotten a handle on this whole thing, mentally. Now, she wasn't sure.

 

“Yea. They die.” Angel nodded, thankfully not mocking her ignorance on the subject.

“Sorry... I guess I'm still having a little trouble with all this... otherworldly stuff.” Kate admitted. “This is what you do, though.”

“This is what I am.” Angel corrected. “And you're the one that said I was an unofficial CI.”

“That's true.” Kate admitted. “Just... haven't really had anything with vampires, or... these, to deal with.” She pointed to the demon. “Nothing otherworldly.”

Angel shook his head, “There's a lot of different kinds of demons, and they all look pretty different. And... technically, they're not really otherworldly-” Angel started, but Kate turned, brushing past them as she walked back towards the station. She wasn't interested in a lecture on these things, and she had other things to think about. Like, what she was going to write in her official report. She couldn't put 'demon' in there without getting ordered to take a lot of psych evals, and she hated the idea of just leaving this case to sit...

She heard Angel's footsteps behind her as he walked quickly to catch up with her.

“So what am I supposed to do here? I can't call the coroner... do I call hazardous materials?” Kate asked him, once he'd caught up with her at the train station. “Is there a... demon dead body hotline?” She added the last question more quietly.

“Don't call anyone.” Angel replied simply.  _Oh, right._  Don't do anything. That wan an excellent solution. Doing nothing. Exactly what she'd been trained for. “I'll make sure it gets taken care of.”

“And I suppose you want me to lie in my report?” Kate shot back.

“ _You_  want you to lie on your report, Kate. You can't exactly tell your superiors the truth, now, can you?” Angel shot back. “Just... do what you would normally do in a case like this.” The way he said it so... blandly, as if that was the answer she would have expected.

“I don't have a 'normally' for this. I haven't had -” Kate shot back quietly, pulling up short by the side wall.

“Yes, you have.” Angel replied. “Cases that didn't add up... evidence and testimony that didn't make sense, if you looked too closely... you just rationalized things away. It's what most people do. I've seen it happen. A lot.” 

 _Right._  Because he was a hundreds of years old vampire. He wasn't just some handsome, brooding man of mystery -slash- unofficial private-eye who was bad with social skills, but in a way that almost made him more interesting.

He was an undead mass murderer, apparently on some sort of quest to make up for his countless sins.  _How did that work, exactly?_  Everything she'd read on vampires since Angel had told her about them, since she'd met Penn the first time then staked him... the truth was that they were evil. As he'd said himself. Remorseless murderers, that killed people at every opportunity just because they could.

 _They_ _ **can**_ _subsist on animal blood. They don't. It's murder._  Though it wasn't as if she'd have had more sympathy for them if they couldn't. Even if the undead were just doing what they had to in order to survive, they were killing people and she... disapproved of that. Strongly.

So had Angel... just woken up one day and decided he would turn over a new leaf, try to be a good guy? Life didn't work like that, in her experience. People didn't really change. She'd locked up too many repeat offenders to really believe in that sort of thing anymore. Oh, sure... once in a very long while, someone  _did_  come out of prison truly changed, and honestly trying to be a better person... 

So had someone suddenly locked the man – the vampire – up? The historical record for Angelus that she'd been able to find did more or less vanish sometime around the start of the 20th century...

Kate closed her eyes and shook her head. All this was a question for another time. Or possibly never. Though never was... unlikely to work.

And... he was right. She had noticed things since Penn... and... a few past cases, unsolved, rose to mind. Unlike other unsolved cases, those ones had had certain... unanswered questions and strange details...  _I need to know more about all this..._

Creative writing. She'd need to come up with some convincing enough lies to pass this off. Or just settle for a completely unclosed file. Or both.

“You've seen this a lot,” Angel repeated, looking at her intensely. “But before now, you never had a name for it.”

“And now I do. I'm not sure I'm that much better off.” Kate replied. She moved away from the wall, looking for the uniformed officer from before. He was talking to a man wearing the coat of some courier/delivery service. She didn't recognize the company offhand, but there were a lot of them in L.A., so that wasn't surprising.

She approached the two of them, ignoring Angel once more. “No, nothing really stood out, except maybe the smell.  Just your average Joe stink homeless guy.” The courier was even more dismissive about their 'homeless guy' than the officer had been.

As she reached the officer, he handed her his pad, where he'd written down his witness statements. She looked it over quickly. Nothing that said 'demon' – everyone had vague, noncommittal descriptions of the demon.  _At least this makes it easier to explain why we don't catch him._  There was a note by the latest entry, this courier. He'd been the one to pull the brake.

“Average height, average build. No distinguishing features. Sounds like you didn't really see him at all.” Kate observed, looking up from the pad to meet the man's eyes. He just shrugged. “You're the one that pulled the emergency brake?”

“Yea. The guy came right at me.” The courier shrugged again.

Somehow, Kate found that a little hard to believe, if he didn't have anything more. Even repressing the event or something should get more. Right? Or maybe not. Either way, she had to at least ask the basic questions for her report.

“Why?” Kate asked him, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“He didn't say.” The man replied, as if not sure what she was asking, or why.

“No. Why did you pull the emergency brake?” Something about this guy keyed up her suspicions, but she wasn't sure what it was. And... well, she'd learned not to underestimate just how slimy people could be, even when they weren't guilty of the crime she was investigating.

“It was an emergency.” The courier replied to her question, as if explaining things to a small child.

 

“Right.” Kate cleared her throat and handed the pad back to the officer. “Circulate this description. See if we can't find this guy.” She didn't bother to hide her skepticism as to that outcome – unhelpful witness statements were the bane of police work.

“We'll do our best.” The officer answered, sounding about as hopeful as she had.

“Can I... go now?” The courier asked, urgently. Probably had deliveries to make. 

Sighing, Kate nodded. “Yea, go.” She didn't bother to watch him leave as she looked around the station, contemplating her upcoming report. All she had to say, really, was very little. She went to the end of the train, to see if she could see any signs of their suspect, found nothing, came back to the station and had nothing useful in the witness statements. Almost the truth. Except for the part where...

It wasn't.

Kate wouldn't pretend she was a saint, by any stretch, but she respected the law and the institution of the LAPD, the  _idea_  of the LAPD... even if she knew that it failed on executing its duty properly more often than she'd like – which would be never. She couldn't help but find the idea of lying on a report  _distasteful_...

She didn't realize Angel had walked up to stand next to her until he started talking; “What's your father doing here?” She followed his gaze, and sure enough, there was her dad, chatting with another one of the officers.

They'd spoken semi-regularly since the... talking stick incident, which, thank God, he really hadn't brought up ever again. But she hadn't expected to see him here.  _Is he checking up on me?_  That was both... sweet and paternal, and... a little patronizing. She'd done just fine before he'd retired, she didn't need him looking over her shoulder. But at least he was showing some sort of concern and interest, which was a nice change of pace from what she was long used to from him.

 _No, that's not fair._ Dad may never had had much time for her, but it wasn't like she didn't understand why, ever since she'd become a cop herself. And when he'd had time for her, he'd been interested in her life. Mostly.

Kate walked up to him, hands down by her sides and back a bit, wondering if he'd actually admit to checking up on her. “Daddy, what are you doing here?”

“In the neighborhood.” He replied, and she didn't need years of experience as a detective to know he was lying.

Despite herself, she couldn't help a small smile coming up on her face. “You've been sitting in your apartment, listening to your police scanner again, haven't you?” She'd caught him doing that more than once in the months since his retirement. You could take Trevor Lockley out of the LAPD, but you couldn't take the LAPD out of Trevor Lockley. Not really.

Her father shrugged slightly, “Nothing on cable anyway.” He looked around the station for a moment. “I heard you had a hostage situation. Looks like I missed all the action.”

_Just like dad._

“35 years on the force, don't you think you've seen enough action? Did you also happen to hear I was the lead officer on the scene?”

After a moment, her father evaded the question: “You look like you're doing okay. I'll let you get back to it.” He turned and walked away, and Kate watched him, still smiling slightly. She heard Angel walk up to stand by her.

“What's he up to?” He just sounded... curious. Like you might be about someone you knew and worked with.

“I think he's actually checking up on me.” She shook her head and added: “Not that he'd ever admit it.”

“You sound a little surprised.” Angel observed, and for a moment, Kate considered his words. Yea, she was a little surprised. Then she closed her eyes as she remembered –  _really_ remembered – who Angel was. What he was. Vampire. Mass murderer. A resource; not a friend, not even an ally.

“No.” She said firmly. “You don't get to do that.” She opened her eyes and turned to face him.

“What?” Angel asked, as if he didn't know.  _He's acting like things are just normal._ Not even close. However normal this was for  _him_ , it wasn't for her, and she couldn't let herself find it normal, especially where he was concerned.

“Kill a demon in front of me, and then act like we're gonna have a cappuccino together. It doesn't work that way.” Not that she wouldn't have been receptive to the suggestion just over a month ago. Hell, had he shown the slightest bit of interest, she might have suggested it herself. Like she'd told him, right before he'd told her he was a vampire, the brooding man of mystery thing worked for him.

Kate was self-aware enough – and honest enough – to admit she'd been interested in him. He was attractive; Angel had that whole 'good looking guy' thing going for him, no doubt about that. Typical as hell, but there it was. Once she'd discovered what he really was, what lurked underneath the handsome face and drool-worthy body, the whole 'getting to know him better' notion had more or less crashed and burned completely.

“How does it work then?” Angel countered. If only she could be sure exactly what he meant by that. Or maybe she didn't want to know that, either.

“I'm not convinced it does.” Kate answered. “For... what you are, you're pretty decent. But let's keep this strictly business, not personal. I'm a cop, you're my CI. You're not my friend, I'm not your girlfriend. Clear?” Best to nip this in the bud. For herself as much for him.

Frustration clawing at her, Kate brushed past him towards the stairs out of the subway station.

**February 22** **nd** **, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

“Based on your description of the demon, I'm guessing this is what you fought?” Harry handed a color photograph over to Angel, who accepted it.

 

After a moment, Angel nodded, “Yea, that's him.”

“Her, actually.” Harry corrected him. “That's a Kwaini demon, and they're always female.” 

 _Then how exactly do they-_  Angel immediately cut that thought off before he could take it any farther. He really didn't care that much – and more importantly, he probably didn't want to know. 

“Which leads us to a problem.” Harry took the photo from his hands and slipped it back into one of the folders she'd brought with her.

“Is it hard to dispose of their bodies or something? Are they hazardous after they die?” This was why he preferred vampires to demons, as enemies. They cleaned up after themselves, the whole dust thing. Even some species of demon did. This 'Kwaini' did not, which meant finding a way to deal with the body. Normally, he didn't bother too much – just put it somewhere out of the way, and the situation would sort itself out eventually. But this was a police case. And he'd told Kate he'd take care of it.

“No. Disposal's pretty simple and standard – virgin soil, Latin incantation. But Kwaini demons are an entirely non-hostile species. They're pacifists – they act as balancing creatures. They don't even eat meat.” Harry explained.

“You can't always make generalizations about every demon in a given species.” Doyle pointed out, before Harry turned to glare at him.

 

“Of the two of us, Francis, which one is the ethnodemonologist?” Harry asked him pointedly, and Angel watched his fellow Irishman take a step back, raising his hands in surrender. For whatever reason, despite preferring to go by Doyle with every other person, the half-demon seer had finally stopped insisting his ex-wife call him by that name. Whatever her reasons for doing so.

 _Probably habit._  That was Angel's guess, anyway. Back when they'd been married, before Doyle had found out he was a half-demon, he'd probably gone by Francis all the time – Doyle  _really_  hated his first name 'Allen' – and he couldn't have gone by 'Doyle' to her when they were married, either.

“Alright, alright.” He surrendered. “I bow to your superior expertise.”

“Look, this demon wasn't being a pacifist. I watched it go after those passengers, and it was certainly willing to fight back against me pretty damn hard.” Angel pointed out.

“Well, yes, hence the problem.” Harry pointed out, opening one of the folders. “Especially that it was  _able_  to fight back, even for a little bit. Kwaini's are not naturally very strong – less so than your average human, actually.” She searched through the folder and eventually pulled out a sheet of paper covered in her neat but cramped handwriting. “There has never been a recorded violent act by a Kwaini demon, except in defense of their children; and even then, they only fight long enough to make running away an option.” She handed him the paper, and Angel looked it over. He didn't recognize half the sources and books she was citing here, but she'd written down numerous details about the peaceful nature of Kwaini's and their limited strength.

“Well, maybe it was taking steroids, then?” Doyle suggested. Raising an eyebrow, Angel looked at him, and he saw that Harry was giving him a look as well. “Hey,  _something_  had to happen to make it violent, right? And strong enough to be able to fight Angel for a couple minutes!” the Seer added.

 _He's got a point._  Angel watched Harry open her mouth to counter him, then close it again. She pointed at him and then looked over at Angel.

“He's got a point,” She said, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. “I  _hate_  it when he does that.”

“When I do what?” Doyle exclaimed defensively.

“Be right! You're insufferable. I'm sure I don't need to remind you how smug you got, after you were right about that -”

“Thing back in March of 1994?” Doyle interrupted. “No, I suppose you don't. But in case you haven't noticed, Harry, it's been six years. I'm not exactly the same person I was back then.” He added, raising his voice a little. “Making a big thing out of being right isn't really my style anymore.”

“Believe me, Francis, I've noticed that you're not the same as you were six years ago!” Harry sniped back at him.

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, then held up a hand. “Look, can the two of you put the ex's argument on hold for a second? We have a nonviolent demon being violent for an unknown reason, and stronger than it's supposed to be.” He shook his head. “Even if it was on some sort of mystical steroids to make itself stronger, to make it willing to be violent, why a commuter train?”

“Well, obviously, it wanted something on the train.” Doyle suggested.

“Or someone.” Angel added, remembering the courier who had pulled the emergency brake 'because it was an emergency'. “I'm gonna go talk to Kate. Harry, if you got a look at the Kwaini's body... could you figure out what happened to it, to make it so violent? The last thing we need is a bunch of peaceful demons attacking people all over L.A.”

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yea. I could take a look, ask some people to go and pick up the body. Maybe get some time in at one of the labs at UCLA.”

“That's where your office is?” Angel had been wondering about that – and what Harry did for money – ever since she'd mentioned she had an office phone. Harry nodded. “What exactly is your job, anyway?”

“Officially, I'm teaching an obscure cultural anthropology elective as part of the university's postgrad curriculum.” Harry shrugged, then clarified: “It's what my Master's degree is in, so there's no issue regarding my qualifications to take on students. Unofficially, though... well, a small group of professors on campus that know about the existence of demons quietly funnel some grant money my way, so I can have an apartment and keep in, you know, food and that sort of thing. In exchange,” She went on, “I do research into demons and teach a night class once a week on demon lore to some of those professors, and even some of their students that also know about demons.” She shrugged, “Doesn't pay very well, but I didn't exactly go into cultural anthropology expecting to get rich in the first place.”

Angel blinked. Well, he supposed that made sense. Some people were just... knowledge junkies, and university professors were the kind of people that would love to know whatever they could learn about the supernatural merely for the sake of it. And where else could she get meaningful employment being an expert on demons, apart from the Watcher's Council or a place like Wolfram and Hart? There couldn't be a whole lot of options.

“Alright. Let me know if you find anything.” Angel grabbed his coat and headed for the sewer exit to his apartment.

**February 23** **rd** **, 2000**

**LAPD 12** **th** **Street Station House, Los Angeles**

Harry personally had no real experience with dissecting demons. Or dissections of any kind, really, apart from some half-forgotten experiences back in High School. But she did have access to literature on the subject, and more importantly, she had access to a biology major and a pre-med student as members of her little 'study group'/night class. They were the ones that had done most of the work in helping her deal with the Kwaini demon's body, and figure out what had happened to it.

It had been high as a kite, basically, just as Francis had suggested.

She'd told Angel, but there was someone else who needed to know. Because if Detective Lockley was going to know about demons and vampires, then she was going to have to know the full details. 'Evil Thing' indeed! If this attitude wasn't nipped in the bud, then it was all too likely that the detective would start killing anything nonhuman she came across.

Harry had seen it happen, or heard of it happening, too many times over the years; a series of bad experiences – or even just one – with the more violent and deadly demon clans turned into a hatred of all demons. Led to people going full demon hunter – and usually killing more of the harmless ones, because they were easier to kill, since they were far less likely to fight back – or to be  _able_  to fight back.

Walking to the open door of Detective Lockley's office should probably not been as easy as it was, but apparently it was that easy.

As she approached the doorway, Harry spoke, “Detective Lockley?” Harry watched the blonde detective look up at her. “My name is Harriet Abrams. I work with Angel. Can we talk?”

“Alright. Close the door behind you.” The other woman said tersely, and Harry stepped into the room, complying with the instruction. Only once the door was safely closed did Lockley stand up. “I thought the only person that worked with Angel was Doyle.” The way she said her name suggested she didn't have a very high opinion of Francis.

Which wasn't surprising. These days, her former husband didn't exactly make a good first impression. Though he had been getting better in the last few months, since the collapse of her engagement to Richard. He still drank – a lot – but he seemed to be doing it less often, and taking himself more seriously. Francis was still far from the man she'd married, but at least he was making improvements in his life.

Harry made a mental note to thank Angel for that. The process had probably more or less started since they'd started working together. She was only seeing it since they'd met, after all.

“That would be my ex-husband.” Harry admitted. “And I work with Angel less frequently than he does. But I do work with him on occasion, because my field of expertise is useful to what he deals with. I'm an ethnodemonologist.” Unsurprisingly, there was a blank look of surprise on the other woman's face, as she parsed through the unfamiliar word.

“Ethnodemonology? That's a thing?”

“Of course. Demons exist. People have known about them for centuries – you're not the first to figure it out, you know. Don't you think people would study them, once they found out?” Admittedly, most people who did just wanted to know how to kill them, but still. “I study demons, their cultures and their interactions with humans. And really, demon is a pretty sloppily applied term that basically means 'not human', but that's a discussion for a different day.” Harry reached into her purse and took out the rolled up copy of her Master's Degree she'd made before coming here.

“I have a Master's in Cultural Anthropology, and for the last seven years, I've put my experiences with that subject to work on studying demons. If any university offered a Doctorate in the subject, I'd have it.” Unfortunately, while grant money and a job was something that could be hidden within the labyrinthine depths of university academia, a doctorate wasn't. She'd written the equivalent of three Doctoral theses in her time as an ethnodemonologist, however. And even if she hadn't gone through the formal process of defending any of them before a panel of examiners, she did engage in rigorous academic debate with others who studied demons.

“I submit that by any reasonable standard, I'm an expert in demons.” She handed the rolled up degree to the detective, who gave it a cursory once over.

“Fine. You've made your point. Is this about the...” she hesitated a moment, then, “demon, from the subway?”

“And about your choice of categorizing it as just an 'evil thing', yes.” Harry replied harshly. “Kwaini demons are in fact peaceful and nonviolent. When one of them starts randomly attacking people on the city subway, there's a reason for it. Your prejudice is getting in the way of your job.” Harry had come prepared to give the detective a lecture, and she was fully willing to stay in this office until she'd made her point.

“My  _job_  has nothing to do with demons. My job is to enforce the laws of the city of Los Angeles, and protect its people – its  _human_  people!” Kate snapped back.

“Your job is to protect the innocent. At least, in theory, isn't that what the police are for?” Harry pointed out. “But if you're going to want it put more pragmatically: There are a lot of perfectly peaceful demons that obey the law... human law, that is... and even pay taxes. Taxes that help pay for your job. They're some of the people you're supposed to protect.” Harry shook her head and opened her purse again, taking out a Ziploc bag and a small glass bottle. She placed both on the police detective's desk. “You want to know how your prejudice has gotten in the way of your job? There's the proof right there.”

Lockley looked at the bag and the oversized demon adrenal gland inside it. Unsurprisingly, she didn't seem overtly disgusted. She'd have seen worse as a cop, Harry was sure.

“I'd like an explanation regarding this so-called proof.” Lockley said flatly, unconvinced.

 

“That's the adrenal gland of a Kwaini demon. Specifically, the demon that Angel killed yesterday. See its size? Well – it's too big. Far too big. A Kwaini demon's adrenal gland is supposed to be much smaller. About the size of a walnut. I can show you the dissection photos, if you'd like.” Harry hoped to God the photos she'd gotten of a Kwaini's dissection had been of one that had died of natural causes. But...

Well, there were some pretty sick people in the field of demon studies.

“And the reason that adrenal gland is oversized, was overactive and causing the Kwaini to behave abnormally, was because of what's in that bottle. It has quite a few things in it, but the short version: It basically works like PCP for Kwaini demons.”

Lockley picked up the vial and examined the liquid inside, shaking it for a moment. Harry could almost see the gears moving in the detective's head, as she started thinking like a cop. “That demon was high on this crap...” Lockley closed her eyes and set the vial down. “The courier. He knew what it was. He knew what it wanted. That's why he pulled the emergency brake.” There was a resigned note in Kate's voice, like she was acknowledging an unpleasant truth.

“Probably, from what Angel told me about what happened.” Harry agreed. She frowned. “I was expecting to have to spend more time convincing you, to be honest.”

“You did a good job of laying out your credentials first.” Lockley pointed out. “And... it's not like I wasn't thinking about this already. As much as I'd rather not deal with... all of this...” She let out a sigh. “I was already thinking that Angel had a point. He... has a good track record with this sort of thing. Right now, he does seem to be on the right side.” She grabbed a folded piece of paper from her desk and held it out to Harry. “Names of everyone that was on that subway car, the courier included. Since you work with Angel...”

Harry took the paper and nodded. “I'll give it to him.” She wasn't sure how much use it would be. Because Angel had followed the courier anyway. Followed him to Detective Lockley's father's house. Part of her had wanted to tell Angel to tell Kate immediately, but...

Yes, Harry hated the idea of being left out of the loop regarding something important that involved her. And the same held true for keeping other people out of the loop. But just how do you tell someone that their father is a dirty cop? Or a dirty ex-cop, anyway. And from what Angel had said about how Lockley had been acting... from what she herself had witnessed of the man's daughter just now... telling her would never have worked.

Mentally, Harry cursed Angel for not bringing a camera with him when he'd done the whole... lurking thing. If he had, if he'd taken a picture of Lockley with the courier, maybe it could have been considered proof. Such as it was...

But now, it seemed like maybe the detective's mind was a little less set than Harry had thought. Maybe there was room for...

 _But I can't be the one to tell her._  She'd gotten it all second hand, and at the end of the day, her convincing academic qualifications or not, Kate didn't know her from Adam. Had no reason to trust her.

“I think Angel was looking into the courier anyway, but I know he'll appreciate that you're trusting him on this enough to cooperate.” Harry finally said. “And if there  _is_  someone giving peaceful demons a drug that makes them violent, humans are at risk,” she added. Harry doubted she'd completely convinced Kate to see that demons were people too, but at least she'd made her think past a few preconceptions. Or so it seemed. But it was still best to focus on what would likely remain the detective's priority: Humans and human crime.

“Maybe you should... check with Angel? See if he's found something out.” Harry shook her head, “It's up to you. But, anyway. I've said my piece. If you come across something related to demons on a case, or have questions about them, Angel has my contact information if you want my help.” Giving the detective a nod, Harry left the office after grabbing the bagged adrenal gland and vial of mystical PCP.

**February 23** **rd** **, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment**

“You went and lectured Kate on demons? And she  _listened_  to you?” Angel shook his head, clearly disbelieving. “If it was that simple -”

“No, it's not. You're a vampire, Angel.” Harry cut in. “Seems pretty clear to me that that's a major hang-up for her.”  __

 _Ain't that the truth._  Doyle knew that Detective Lockley was a smart woman, that much was obvious, but she was having trouble with the whole 'demons are real' revelation. Not everyone could just dive into it as a research project like his ex-wife could.

 _Well, that's just plain unfair._  It wasn't Harry's fault – Doyle hadn't handled the discovery well at all, and really, he had just been....

Well, he'd been a pretty awful husband, those last few months before they'd separated. And her fascination with the whole subject of demons hadn't really been the reason for it. 

“I don't know if she's accepted everything, but she did at least accept that there was something wrong here. That's why she gave me the list to give to you. I told her she should get in touch with you, since you were already looking into things.” Harry shrugged, “She did say you knew what you were doing, Angel. You're on the right side.”

“I don't want her getting involved in this more than she is.” Angel replied, frowning.

“Why?” Doyle cut in, “'Cause of her dad? Look, pal, I'm not sure how you can just tell her that her dad's dirty, but she's  _already_  involved in this. And the whole reason you told her about vampires in the first place is because you knew she wouldn't just drop something. You really think she's gonna drop this just 'cause you want her to do it?” Granted, he'd thought the idea wasn't the best one – but Harry had been convincing then, and...

 

Well, it had worked out. And from the perspective of the mission, a friend on the force was a good thing.

“Look, I've seen this sort of thing before. Humans get mixed up with violent demons, it almost never ends well for the humans.” Doyle finished. “And you don't get into dealing drugs that make peaceful demons go nuts, if you don't have a bit of violence in you. Sooner or later, Lockley's gonna get in too far over his head. She's gonna find out then.”

“She deserves to know.” Harry agreed. “Besides – her father chose to go into business with that sort of people. His daughter finding out he's dirty isn't something undeserved.” 

Out of someone else's mouth, that might have sounded callous... but that wasn't where Harry was coming from, Doyle knew that. She just believed in consequences. Besides, he was guessing Harry wasn't feeling all that charitable to the people Detective Lockley's father was working for – given what they were doing to a peaceful demonic species.

“So then, how exactly am I supposed to tell her? What am I supposed to tell her?” Angel demanded. “I tell Kate what we know, it ruins everything between them, and he could end up arrested as an accessory to dealing drugs, pension gone, the works. He may be in bed with people he knows are bad, but - he loves his daughter. I figured out that much during our recent chat... Kate finds out about all this, there's a good chance he loses her, and I don't want to put either of them through that if I can avoid it!” Angel was unusually passionate about this subject, and Doyle couldn't figure why.

“He made a mistake, but the price for one bad choice isn't always equivalent to the offense.” Angel finished quietly, then took a step back and shook his head, adding: “Maybe I won't have to tell her. I'll go there, show him what I am if I have to, make Lockley realize just what he's gotten himself into. And then I'll go to that warehouse and shut their operation down.”

“Alright, Angel, fine. You've made your point.” Doyle nodded, stepping back. Angel had a point. There was no reason Lockley absolutely had to have his life ruined over that mistake.  _Besides, if he's anything like his daughter, he's probably beating himself up over this as it is._  

Doyle watched Harry open her mouth to object, but before he could, an arm broke through the window on the front door and turned the knob. Two more of those demons from his vision, Kwaini, dressed in rags and looking like a homeless person off the streets like the last one burst in, growling angrily. Angel was already turning to face them as they rushed towards him. Unsurprisingly, they weren't much of a match – the vampire grabbed one and tossed her back against the wall before getting into a fist-fight with the other.

The one Angel had tossed though, was on her feet quickly and moving towards Harry and him. With Angel distracted, Doyle went at the demon – or really, the demon went at him. The Kwaini's punch to the side of his face sent him reeling. Angel had said it was stronger than it should have been, but  _bloody hell_!

 _Well, if that's how it's going to be played.._. Doyle closed his eyes for a split second and brought out his Brachen half, the spines forming on his face. Looking astonished for a moment, the drug-addled Kwaini tried to grab his shoulders – but Doyle punched at her arm instead, knocking it aside. A few quick punches to the demon's stomach and she was doubled over, staggering back. Doyle grabbed the demon's arm again and flipped her down into her face, slamming her into the ground. She was alive, but unconscious.

Closing his eyes again, Doyle returned to normal. He still wasn't comfortable doing that, no matter how useful the extra strength could be in a fight. He turned back to Harry. “You alright?” When she nodded, letting out the breath she'd apparently been holding the entire time, he looked over to Angel, who had just finished with his opponent, pinning her to the wall.

“Alright, cough up! I know you can, so talk!” Angel demanded of the demon. 

After only a few moments, the Kwaini told them what she knew: she and her sister – the other demon – had been paid in more of the drug to kill Angel, who they thought was just a human. And that their dealers, a group of vampires, had mentioned cleaning house.

It didn't take any of them long to realize that Doyle had been more right than he'd thought, not five minutes before. It was about to end very, very badly for Mr. Lockley.

Angel was pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and heading for the door within seconds, letting the Kwaini collapse to the ground, also apparently unconscious.

“Kate, it’s Angel. Pick up if you’re there. If you get this message, get to your father. Get him out of his apartment. He’s in danger! He's in business with people. Dangerous people. My kind of people. He doesn’t know what they are, Kate.  He won’t understand. I’m on my way there now!” Angel hung up and continued down the hall.

“Where do you think you're going, boyo?” Doyle interrupted, moving to get in front of the vampire.

“Kate's father is in danger. I'm not going to just let those vampires kill him. Or her, if she gets the message and gets to his place first! Out of the way, Doyle.”

“And what do you think is going to happen if ya get there before she does? I don't think Mr. Lockley is going to just invite you inside his place – so if the vamps get to him before you get there...” He didn't need to finish the point. “At least let me come with you.”

After a moment, Angel nodded. “Alright, fine.”

**February 23** **rd** **, 2000  
Trevor Lockley's Apartment, Los Angeles**

****For once in his life, Doyle was actually _wanting_  one of those migraines with pictures the Powers that Be had seen fit to grace him with. Could give him some idea of what he was up against. A vampire or two he could survive, though beating them would be another problem. Vampires usually didn't carry weapons, and the ways they liked to kill were broken necks – not a problem, thanks to his dear old demon dad – and drinking blood. Also not a problem. His blood had too much demon in it to be palatable to any vampire. 

He'd actually found that out first hand, when a vamp tried to drink from him years ago. It hadn't worked out for the bloodsucker.

Doyle knocked quickly on the locked door to Lockley's apartment, hoping he wasn't too late. Angel was behind him, but Doyle had raced ahead of the vampire – no reason to lag behind. Angel couldn't get in without an invite, anyway. 

The door opened and Doyle could only assume the older man on the other side of the doorway was Mr. Lockley. But behind him, Doyle could see two men in suits. “Mr. Lockley, you need to get out of here. Now!”Even as he spoke, the two men were doing exactly what he'd been worried they'd do: Donning their game faces, their fore-heads changing, eyes going yellow, fangs extending.

“Now listen-” Lockley started, but Doyle cut him off when he barged into the apartment, pushing the older man aside as the vampires lunged for him. Doyle just barely got in the way. For a second time in the same day, Doyle brought out his Brachen side. The vampires were coming at him, and even with his enhanced strength, he wasn't sure he could hold them off.

Throwing a punch at one of them, Doyle watched in small satisfaction as the vampire staggered back when the blow connected with the vampire's chest. But then the other one was on him. Doyle didn't have any attention to spare for Trevor Lockley behind him. With his demonic half out on display, Doyle had the strength to stand up to a vampire, but what he was missing was the speed that gave vampires an advantage. Punch after punch landed on him, as the vampires tried to get him out of the way, so they could get to -

Out of the corner of his eye, Doyle saw the former policeman overcome whatever initial shock he was experiencing at seeing three inhuman combatants duking it out in his home, and throw a punch at one of the vampires.  _Oh, damn it!_  The older man knew what he was doing, but Lockley was also completely outmatched in this sort of fight!

“Get out of here, now!” Doyle insisted. He got himself some breathing room by headbutting one of the vampires, letting the spines all over his face dig into its flesh. The vampire howled and went staggering back –and Doyle threw a punch at the exposed side of the other one, just in time to stop the vampire from grabbing Mr. Lockley.

Unfortunately, that action sent the entire fight downhill. In that moment, Angel finally reached the doorway, and Doyle heard him call out to Lockley, trying to get the old man to invite him in, but all it did was distract the former police officer. The vampire that Doyle had sent reeling back grabbed Lockley's arm and pulled him around, holding the arm out straight and driving his fist into the reverse of his elbow. Doyle tried to get to him, but -

It didn't work. The vampire he was facing grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him backwards, just about sending him flying into the wall – enough to break it in parts. Dazed, Doyle struggled to get to his feet as the two vampires moved on Lockley.

“You kill him, the first thing that happens is his threshold ceases stopping me from coming in and dusting the both of you!” Angel all but growled out at the vampires. Though it didn't stop the vampires, it did give them a moment's pause. Doyle took advantage of that moment, getting to his feet and rushing the vampires – but it wasn't quite enough.

One of the vampires inserted his fangs into Lockley's neck – 

Doyle reached the vampire and roughly ripped him away from Lockley, knowing it wasn't exactly good for the former cop's throat, but he didn't have many more options. 

But the vampire didn't let Doyle keep ahold of him. With a sweeping kick that caught him by surprise, the vampire knocked his legs from under him. As all that happened, the other vampire hit Lockley several times in the ribs and threw him across the room, letting him crash into a bookshelf, slumping to the ground, immobile. But the threshold didn't fall – he was still alive.

Both vampires started for the door, clearly interested in escaping at this point – Lockley was bleeding out from the neck. They probably assumed he'd bleed out. Assuming Angel had them in hand, Doyle rushed to Mr. Lockley, returning to his human face and pressing his hand against the man's neck, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood.

“God damn it!” Doyle muttered, pressing hard, ignoring the blood covering his hand. With his other hand, he checked the man's ribs – at least one of them was broken.

He heard the sounds of repeated gunshots in the hallway, but couldn't turn to see what was going on. He was too busy trying to keep Lockley alive. Moments later, he heard the sound of Detective Lockley's voice behind him.

“Daddy! No!” She rushed towards him. Doyle moved out of her way as much as he could, letting her crouch by her father. “Daddy!” 

“Call 911. Now! He's still alive, but we need an ambulance if it's gonna stay that way!” Doyle said urgently, as Kate looked in horror at her bleeding out father's motionless form. 

For a timeless moment, the blonde did nothing; but then she stood, nodding. Doyle was sure she had more to say, but right now, the focus was on keeping her father alive.

**February 24** **th** **, 2000**

**Harriet Abrams's Office, UCLA**

Under most other circumstances, Kate wouldn't be wrenching the door of an adjunct professor's janitor-closet office open. Under most other circumstances, Kate wouldn't feel perfectly willing to beat a civilian half to death. But right now, she was feeling it.

Because right now, her -

 

Her father...  _Right now, he's dead._

Her father, the man she'd always looked up to – he was dead.

Killed by vampires. The vampires he'd been working with.

The ambulance she'd summoned had arrived to take him to the closest hospital... but the paramedics hadn't been able to save him. Her father had apparently lost too much blood, and the broken ribs had punctured his lung as they'd loaded him into the back of the emergency vehicle.

But as soon as he'd gotten into the ambulance...

Kate hadn't stayed with him. She hadn't stayed with him, and later her father had died alone, surrounded by nothing but strangers.

Even now, Kate wasn't sure why she hadn't jumped into the back of the ambulance and been there for her dad, just before he'd expired. For whatever reason, she'd gone after whoever had sent those vampires after her father instead. More vampires, and some demon that had had more than enough strength to punch her clear across the room. If Angel hadn't come with her, to help her...

 

She'd have died there in that damn warehouse.

She'd never thought she'd ever take justice into her own hands that way. Cops weren't supposed to do that. There was a reason for all those rules about investigating the deaths of family members, loved ones...

But there was no criminal justice system to resort to when it came to vampires and demons. And so...

The university office was just as small as she'd assumed from the outside. The woman who'd dropped by the precinct yesterday was sitting there at her little desk, writing something down on a legal pad. 

“You KNEW!!” Kate shouted, putting her hands on the desk and looming over the seated woman.

Harriet looked up from her paper and set the pen down carefully. “Detective Lockley.” She took a small breath. “And I knew what, exactly?” There was no sign of her being intimidated by Kate's posture, or her volume.

“You  _knew_  what d- what my father was into. You knew, you must have known – and you didn't tell me! And now he's dead!” Kate kept shouting. That was why she'd told her to call Angel, to ask him about the case. Instead of telling her what was happening, giving her a chance to get to her – to get to her father in time, to warn him... and now her father was dead.

Because this... woman hadn't told her what she'd needed to know, even though the blonde had known what had been happening –

“And your father dying, that's  _my_  fault?” Harriet shot back, standing up. “Look, Detective...  _I'm_  not the one who got into business with people selling drugs to demons! That was your father. He made his choices, he took the risks, and he... broke the law.”

The reminder that her father was dirty, that Trevor Lockley of all people was on the take, only enraged her more. “He didn't  _know!_  He didn't know what they were!”

“Granted, but quite frankly, that's almost irrelevant. Whatever Mr. Lockley was ignorant of, he knew those people were shady and breaking the law. He knew he'd gotten into bed with dangerous criminals. It's a tragedy he's dead, I won't deny that. And truth be told, I didn't know until just now.” She closed her eyes for a moment, her voice more soft, “You have my condolences.”

“To hell with your 'condolences!'” Kate spat at Harriet.

“Fine. But unless you're going to arrest me for something, Detective Lockley, get out of my office. Because I didn't kill your father, and me telling you what I knew when last we met? You know as well as I do that  _that_  would have accomplished nothing. You wouldn't have believed me.” The woman sat back down. “Whether you want to hear it or not, I'm sorry your father is dead, but I'm not going to let you blame me for it.”

“Too bad, lady, because I'm not going to stop. Because whatever excuses you try to justify your actions with, what happened – my father's murder – is  _your_  fault.” Kate felt her hands close into fists, but he stopped herself from punching the other woman in blind rage – barely – and stepped back. 

She  _did_ slam the door hard enough for it to rattle in its frame a little on the way out, though.


	4. The Limits of the Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Angel the Series.
> 
> **Author's Note 1:** I apologize for the delay. Between real life and whatnot, and then having to reject my initial version of the chapter (which was several thousand words by that point) as unworkable, this took longer than ever expected by a country mile.
> 
> **Author's Note 2:** Unlike the last three chapters of the Flip Side, this doesn't rewrite a specific episode, though it does 'fill' the space created by two episodes from the original show that aren't happening in this story - namely, _Five By Five_ , and _Sanctuary_. What with Faith's entire trajectory being different, those episodes just don't even happen. So this chapter isn't an 'AU' version of those episodes.
> 
> Rather, this chapter fills the space of those episodes, sort of, and explores the character of Kate Lockley in greater depth. She's an important character in the L.A. side of the Coinverse (as anyone who has ever checked my tumblr has seen me discuss, when talking about my various plans for this fic series), and we need to look inside her head much more than we’ve done so far.
> 
> I'm guessing most of you who are reading The Flip Side are also reading the mainline Iron Coin fanfic series. But to be clear, if you haven't read Iron Coin Chronicles Season 2, Episode 17, you might want to do so - as this chapter will allude to a few things that happened there, what with the Scooby gang going to L.A. and meeting Angel, Doyle and Kate there, and what comes of that. If you don't read it, you'll be able to follow the chapter, but you might be confused on a few details here and there. Just fair warning.
> 
> Thanks as always to Starway Man and Deiticlast for their work as beta-readers.

The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip SIde

By Alkeni

Chapter 4: The Limits of the Law

**April 20th, 2000**

**Kate Lockley's Apartment, Los Angeles**

Kate had always been a workaholic - first as a uniform officer, and now as a Detective. She'd picked the habit up both from her dad, and from the need to prove herself in the face of the other detectives and their skepticism about her and her ability to be an effective member of the LAPD.

So taking her work home with her, when she actually _went_ home, was nothing new. But the frequency with which she did it had only increased since she'd had her eyes opened about the supernatural. All her reference material, the notes she'd taken on the supernatural - and on Angel himself - were here.

_I can't exactly keep occult reference books around the station_. She was still sorting out what sources were useful and which were crap, but she'd slowly begun to assemble a small collection of what she was pretty sure was mostly accurate stuff - demons, magic, vampires. Everything that went bump in the night.

Kate planned to bump back, as much as she could.

She'd always tended towards the weird cases, even before she’d discovered the truth out there. The serial killers, the unexplained phenomena, the mysterious murder weapons, the kinds of cases other detectives just threw their hands up at and give up on. It was a reputation she'd built up, and it served her well since she'd learned about the supernatural.

She'd become the go-to detective for these cases - the captain or even other detectives would just bring them to her, knowing she'd handle them so they didn't have to.

And, as the only detective at her precinct that _knew_ about the supernatural, about vampires and demons, well - Kate actively gravitated towards any case, any murder, where it seemed like the supernatural might be involved. Bizarre neck wounds, wild animal attacks that made no sense, other things that seemed 'impossible' and were likely to end up written off and shoved into a cold case archive (and sooner rather than later).

Bottom line, Kate knew that someone had to solve these cases, and she was the one to do it. And... as much she hated to rely on him, she could always - and did - ask Angel for help. Information, or insight into what she was looking for, how to kill it... he usually invited himself along for the ride, which she could usually do without, but...

Her misgivings about working with a murderous vampire - even one who really _wasn't_ evil anymore - remained. But... Angel was an ally. He'd saved her life more than once, and she'd saved his... and she still trusted him. Which she _knew_ was stupid, but...

And beyond all that, Kate wasn't going to let her misgivings stop her from solving cases. She'd had informants she'd had misgivings about, she'd convinced the DA's office to accept plea bargains so she could get bigger fish. And at the end of the day, if getting the dangerous demons and monsters and whatever else was out there off the street meant working with a vampire...

Well, she put results first, and that meant she'd have to work with him.

Taking another sip from her coffee, Kate looked back at the case file she'd taken home with her. Four dead bodies, all untouched, except for the fact that their eyes were burned out of their sockets. Completely. No eyeballs, just a bit of trace residue and ash left behind. And no evidence indicating _how_ the eyes were incinerated. No marks. No chemicals or accelerants. Nothing.

That alone would have been enough for the case to land on her desk, but the thing that really caught her interest is that all of the victims seemed to be neck-deep in the Occult. One owned an occult shop and bookstore, and the other three had homes full of occult books and implements - which, to Kate's admittedly inexpert eye, looked like the real deal.

Her guess was that someone was killing... what was she even supposed to call them? They weren't all one gender, so witch or warlock wouldn't work... magic-users... spellcasters of some sort? _Whatever._

She laid the pictures of the bodies out in front of her, each one lying on the ground, looking completely peaceful and untouched... and completely dead. She looked at the empty eye sockets, something niggling at the back of her minds. She picked one picture up - the first victim, a fifty-year old man named Joshua Davis...

The outside of the sockets weren't touched at all - the ash was all _inside_ the eye sockets...

_Wait._

Moving over to her books, she pulled one out, hoping she was remembering the right one as she started to page through it quickly, looking for-

_There._

**April 20th, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

"You really need to remember to lock that door, Angel."

Angel looked up from his book at Doyle's words, unbothered by them, or the sound of the elevator coming down from the upper level.

"It's just Kate," Angel replied. "I don't think locking the door would stop her, anyway."

Doyle raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. "Y’know, boyo, that woman - she's been coming by a lot the last couple months..." The half-demon trailed off, deliberately leaving something out, probably trying to imply something - but Angel didn't take his meaning.

"I know. Kate's actively taking on every case that has any signs of supernatural involvement. Not really a surprise. Besides, I've asked her for help more than once too." Angel would have liked to say she was a friend, but he didn't know how Kate would have felt about that. She'd gotten past the fact that he was a vampire, more or less, and she was taking the revelation of the supernatural fairly well. Finally. But still, even he could pick up how conflicted the blonde cop felt about him, and about coming to him for help.

_She's used to doing everything on her own. Not relying on anyone._ Based on what little Angel knew about Kate's childhood, after her mother had died, she'd mostly raised herself. She'd become a cop to get closer to her father, but Angel could guess how it hadn't been easy for her. Society may have gotten more egalitarian than when he was human, but...

"She's your friend on the force, aye, I know that. But she'd better not drop by at the same time Harry is helping us out on a case!" Doyle muttered, as Angel finally heard the elevator reach the bottom and the doors begin to open.

Moving quickly, he was there to greet her by the time she was out of the elevator.

"Ugh. Can you _not_ do that?" Kate asked, stiffening a little at his sudden arrival.

"Do what?"

"Jeez, I can never tell if you're being deadpan or really don't know," Kate muttered, quieter than a human would be able to pick up, then she went on in a louder voice: "Moving so fast like that... just appearing out of nowhere."

"Well, y’know, I keep telling the Dark Avenger here that he needs to makes some noise, or wear a bell, or something," Doyle commented, walking behind him. Kate gave him a brief sideways glance, but then turned her attention back to Angel as she held out a case file. "He's still not keen on it, though. Probably because it ruins that whole creature of the night thing, I’m betting..."

Kate ignored Doyle’s words as Angel reached out and took the case file, the detective starting to give him the details.

"Someone has been killing what I can only assume are magic users of some sort, or people involved in the supernatural. And I think they've been using this spell I read about - 'Inverting the Windows.'"

The name sounded familiar, but it wasn't until Angel opened the file and saw the pictures of the body, their empty eye sockets and the mention of ash on the inside of the sockets, that he managed to connect the dots.

Had Angel still been human, he'd have swallowed as he realized just what sort of spell Kate was talking about. He didn't recognize it by that name... but eyes _were_ the windows to the soul, or so they said. And since this magic involved draining someone of all their magical power and in the process killing them...

Well, it made sense.

"I've heard of this," Angel nodded slowly. "Never seen it in action, but... it's pretty dark magic. Not to mention the whole 'killing someone' part. Someone is trying to gather some serious power."

"You're right about these people being spellcasters, Detective. I actually recognize these two," Doyle said, pointing at two of the pictures. "That one's Jessica Grimes. She's - sorry, she _was_ \- a magical loan shark - lends out power, takes it back with interest. Had a strict rule against killing people, but she still put a buddy of a guy I know in a coma after taking her interest out of him.”

“And the other victim you know?” Kate demanded.

“Well, his name is Joshua Davis... old hand in the magic community. Played poker with him a few times. Lousy bluffer. He didn't have a lot of power, but word is he knew how to use what he had pretty well. But Grimes? She's a heavy hitter."

"Joshua was the first victim, and Jessica was the most recent. Maybe the killer's going for more and more powerful targets?" Kate suggested, and Angel nodded.

"It would make sense. Using the power he takes from one to help him steal power from the next. That might actually making stopping him easier." Angel saw Kate's raised eyebrow and shrugged, "I'm not an expert on magic, but I've been around long enough to learn a few details - if this killer is using the magic from each victim to drain the power of the next, then it means he doesn't have the power of all four, at least not completely." Angel didn't relish the idea of going up against someone who could possibly conjure fire out of thin air, but Kate wasn't going to just abandon this, and he wouldn't let her do it alone.

Besides, Angelus had killed more than a few witches and warlocks in his day. It wasn't always easy, but even powerful magic users could be beaten, if you planned carefully.

"I was hoping you... or your friend," She gestured to Doyle, "Might know who to talk to in the... community. Point me in the right direction."

"I can talk to a few people. If someone's stockpiling mojo, there might be someone who knows _something_ ," Doyle nodded, looking to Angel.

"Go," Angel confirmed.

"I'll need those pictures, could help if someone recognizes the other two."

Kate nodded, crossing her arms and front of her, "Go ahead and keep them." Kate uncrossed her arms, turning a little. "They're just copies. And the rest of the precinct won't notice if they're gone." She let out a sigh. "They don't tend to notice much of anything."

"If they did notice things, you'd just have more dead cops, Kate. Either that, or lynch mobs in uniform - which might actually be worse. Most people just aren't equipped to handle this sort of thing. You are." Angel understood her frustration, to a point. She was out on a limb, alone, with no support from the rest of the LAPD. And from what little he'd gathered, she'd become increasingly alienated from her fellow officers as she kept investigating the weirder cases, the ones that had supernatural involvement that no one would admit to.

She was fighting a one-woman war here, trying to solve these crimes.

And fighting on your own... well... that had its disadvantages. Especially where Kate’s lifespan was concerned.

"And that's a fact that's a blessing and a curse, that is," Doyle observed, chiming in for the first time since the start of the conversation. "It's not just one or the other, Detective. May as well stop asking yourself the question."

"How is any of this a _blessing_?" Kate snapped, turning towards Doyle.

"You're still alive. Ignorance might be bliss," Doyle explained, "but you'll end up just as dead if you don't believe in demons and vampires, when one of 'em decides you'd make a tasty snack. Now you get to be all Agent Mulder, and know what to do to survive."

"Mulder _wants_ to believe. I believe, but I don't want to." Kate countered.

Doyle stared at her a moment, then nodded, "Fair enough. Can't say I don't feel you there."

Angel watched Doyle step past Kate and enter the elevator, going up. He looked back to Kate. "Doyle's the one who knows people, but when he does find something, I'm going with you."

"This is _my_ case, Angel," Kate told him firmly.

"It is. Your case, your lead," Angel agreed. It was how they'd done it in recent months - if she came to him to ask for his help, she led, and if he went to her, he led. It wasn't perfect - Kate didn't exactly like not running the show - but likely she figured it was the price of cooperation. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you go in guns blazing and get yourself killed, Kate."

"And that's fine... more or less." Kate inhaled sharply after muttering that last bit, "I'm not an idiot and I'm not going to take stupid risks." Angel held up his hands a little, conceding the point.

"But remember," she went on, "if this is a human doing this - I don't care if they can use magic, if they're human, I'm making every effort to arrest them and see they're brought to trial." Kate looked at him intently. "This isn't going to be a demon you can kill or a vampire you can stake. I don't kill people, unless I have no choice. And I'm not going to let you do it either."

Angel wasn't surprised at her words. Kate was an officer of the law, and a good person. She believed in justice and the LAPD. The police were far from perfect, but Kate wasn't one to abuse her power or shoot unarmed people. And she believed in the justice system.

"I don't kill humans -"

"You _did_ leave Darin MacNamara to die at the hands of all those other demons in that fight ring," Kate pointed out.

Angel frowned at that - not so much the fact that Darin had died after being killed by his own cuffs - he hadn't put the cuffs on him or thrown him, that had all been Trepkos.

But he _had_ threatened to kill Jack MacNamara in order to get free... and he'd been ready to follow through on the threat, more or less.

_Jack was a criminal and hardly an innocent._ And that was true... but it was a line he'd thankfully been able to avoid crossing.

"But I didn't kill him. I would have been fine with you taking him in... illegal gambling and fight rings are still illegal, and if he’d told anyone the full truth, he'd have been committed." Angel wasn't sure about that - a man like Darin deserved to die, but Angel couldn't be the one to do it.

"And that's a big part of the reason I got involved... that and saving your life."

"I thanked you for that then," Angel pointed out, then he put his hands in his pockets. "Kate... the thing is, you may not be able to hold a guy like this. Even if you can come up with the kind of evidence that would apply in a human court, unless you can stop him from casting spells, he could probably just break out of any normal holding facility."

Kate frowned, no doubt recalling her excruciating experience with the talking stick - if magic had helped a man escape a jail cell before, it could do so again.

"I don't get to make that call, Angel. I'm not a soldier, I'm not here to kill the other guy, I'm here to arrest them. I'll worry about how he stays in prison once we get that far."

"Alright," Angel said after a long moment. "I'll let you know as soon as Doyle finds something," he added.

"Good."

**April 20th, 2000**

**Kate Lockley's Apartment, Los Angeles**

Kate didn't handle downtime well. Never had, and probably never would. When she wasn't on the job, she wanted to be back on it. She was infamous among her fellow detectives for being even more of a workaholic than the rest of them.

Of course, now she had even more than just her official cases to work on. She had to teach herself about the supernatural, and then... and then she had a case of her own, one she'd been working on steadily for months, ever since she'd met a so-called private investigator in the home of a dead woman.

The mystery that was 'Angel'.

By now, she had a whole box of information on the man - something about him, especially after he saved her life, had told her there was more to learn about him.

At first, the file had been collected notes and assumptions based on their interactions, more questions than answers and a lot of assumptions and guesses.

In the end... it had turned out that all of her guesses were... useless.

Because Angel was a vampire. And so, a whole new file had been opened up.

Kate pulled one of the now many folders out of the box and opened it up, starting to go through it, looking for something. Something about... vampire hunters?

She'd made it her mission to find information on as many of the crimes committed by Angelus - by Angel - as she could. She wanted to know exactly who he he was, what he’d done. Exactly what he was making up for.

Everything she'd found had been worse than a horror story. His record of death and devastation made him one of the bloodiest vampires in history. According to some of the books she'd found, Angelus' record stood up 'well' to that of vampires that had lasted for a thousand years or more.

She couldn't look away from it all. Every sin, every murder, every time he’d nailed a puppy to someone’s front door... something he'd apparently done more than a few times. If she was going to keep him alive and use him, she wanted to make sure she remembered his sins, so she didn't let herself forget what he was.

But there was a name that was on the tip of her tongue. Some vampire hunter that had chased after Angelus for years, had suffered something horrible at the hands of Angelus and his sire, Darla... she wasn't sure why he was coming to her mind, but something about something had reminded her... and now she couldn't get it out her head..

After another few minutes of paging through the folder unsuccessfully, Kate dropped it to the table sloppily, letting out a long sigh before dropping into a chair. She could look for it another time, if it was still bothering her.

"It's easy to forget..." She mused aloud, then closed the folder, stuffing all the pages back into it haphazardly and dropping the whole thing back into the 'Angel' box. Angel didn't act like a mass murdering sociopath. He could be... friendly, helpful, useful, occasionally funny and...

Almost endearing, even in his strangeness - but he wasn't any of those things. Not really.

Learning that the answer to _why_ he was different was because a clan of Romani had cursed him with a soul so he could feel the guilt and remorse for all his sins had answered the question of _why_ he was so different, at least, to a degree. It had been something of a relief to know the why of Angel, why he had stopped being like all other vampires. It meant that he wasn't likely to revert back to his previous ways. She'd been - and still was - ready to stake him the second he started killing people and... everything else Angelus had done.

But at least now she knew what would have to happen for that to happen. Angel would have to lose his soul. _I'm still just accepting that souls are a real thing, and now I have to accept that_

Learning that he'd _lost_ his soul in a moment of pure happiness while having sex with his seventeen year old girlfriend, on the other hand, had been something she _really_ didn't need to know. She wasn't an idiot - people under the age of 18 had sex all the time. But it was usually with people who were their own age - or at least _looked_ it. It bothered her, just a little bit.

But she was quite sure that the assumption Angel and all his ex's friends were operating under was incorrect. Sex itself wasn't perfect happiness - she'd had enough empty, meaningless sex to know that. Sometimes, the sex just made you feel _worse_ after it was done.

He and Buffy had been in love, and it had been a pretty special kind of love. The whole once in a lifetime storybook shit she’d stopped believing was real when she was ten. It had been that love that did it. The fact that someone could love him despite what he was, despite what’d done. The sex was just the culmination of it all.

_But at the end of the day, one just has to make sure there's no moments of perfect happiness for him._ And given just how much Angel brooded, perfect happiness seemed a long time in coming.

_But,_ Kate reminded herself as she let her thoughts drift, _he's still that same person. Soul or not... and he could lose it._ It might not be likely - there was no more perfect happiness between him and his ex any longer - but it could still happen.

And she needed to remember that. Needed to remember who and what he was.

At his core, Angel was Angelus, the mass murdering Scourge of Europe, and she had to be ready in case Angelus came back. In case Angel ever lost his soul again.

**April 21st, 2000**

**Harry Abrams's Office, UCLA**

"So, no luck so far?" Harry asked her ex-husband, cradling the phone between her head and shoulder as she continued typing a letter full of the bland excuses and explanations that kept her employed by a college where the people signing the paychecks really had no idea what she was doing.

"Not yet. I mean, I haven't hit everyone up yet, but so far nobody's heard of some new warlock in town stealing people's power and there's no word someone local is trying to give themselves an extra power boost. No one knows who killed any of these four magic users." Doyle sighed, "I'm startin' to wonder if it might be best for me to just jump ahead to the end of the line and go to _Caritas_ already."

Harry chuckled a little. One of the things she was quite grateful to Francis for, now that she was living in Los Angeles, was taking her to _Caritas_ and introducing her to the Host. She'd had a lot of interesting conversations with the green-skinned anagogic demon who ran the bar, and with several of the more friendly customers, and simply observing the place was an amazingly useful research opportunity.

_On the downside, the drinks they make there are tasty enough I can't afford to go as often as I'd like_. She'd order more than she really needed because they tasted so good. She'd wondered more than once if there was some magic that went into their mixing.

"Well, he's probably not going to be able to give you anything specific," Harry started, "but he'd be able to point you in the right direction. Or, even better, point Angel in the right direction."

"I am _not_ taking Angel to _Caritas_. No way, Harry! Can you imagine siccing the Host on him? That would be cruel and unusual punishment."

_For everyone involved, especially Angel._ Harry giggled a little at the thought of the flamboyant, outgoing lounge demon talking to the ensouled vampire, urging him to bare his soul. Probably give him some ridiculous affectionate nickname too.

"Besides, I don't want to hear Angel - or anyone, really - sing Barry Manilow." Francis finished. "I don't suppose you have any ideas about this? Is it a demon?"

"It could be," Harry said, finishing up the letter and saving the document to print later. "I mean, there are demon warlocks, witches, shamans... but most that would be inclined to kill people to steal their power wouldn't want to use a _human's_ power. Tainted and all that. I can reach out to a few friends in some of the more magically inclined demon circles, see if they know anything. But... it's probably a human. Most demon magic is a lot more ritualistic."

Though Harry had to admit, she wasn't sure how much of the ritual was custom and how much of it was really actually necessary. If she was going to keep helping Angel and her ex-husband, it might be good for her to learn more about magic, be able to differentiate better between demon magic and magic wielded by humans - and just how much of a difference there really was.

"I suppose some things can't ever be easy. You think If I asked nicely, the Powers would send me a vision to help out on this one?" Her ex already knew what answer she'd be giving, but it was a sign of his frustration he was asking it anyway.

"I don't pretend to understand your visions or these... Powers, Francis." Harry pointed out. "I can't exactly observe them, or ask them questions... there's not much for me to work with." She accepted that they were real - Doyle's visions didn't work like those of some normal seer, and she knew that in the supernatural world there _were_ unobservable, unmeasurable powers at work, beyond the ken of humans, but since she _couldn't_ study them... well, she couldn't know anything about them.

"Probably just how the blighted bastards like it, too," Francis observed, then sighed. "Best to go to _Caritas_ now, I suppose, get it out of the way. If the Host can't help me, I haven't lost anything."

"A very good point. There's no need to sound so glum about it, Francis. You're actually a pretty good singer, or at least when you're not drunk." Harry immediately regretted saying that as soon as it came out of her mouth. Her ex-husband still drank, and honestly, she didn't see that ever going away completely - but he'd clearly long since stopped living as far inside the bottle as he had been in the last days of their marriage, and he seemed to have gotten better still ever since she'd finally had the divorce papers signed.

Working with Angel really was helping him, though Harry admitted she sometimes worried whether it would last.

"It's been a long time since I sang when I wasn't drunk, so I'll have to take your word for it," Francis admitted, then he added, "I'll call if there's anything else."

**April 22nd, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

"I have something," Doyle said as he walked into the apartment, and Angel looked up from the microwave where his blood was warming up.

"Usually your contacts rustle something up sooner than this," Angel observed, "so whoever it is must be hiding well."

"Well, I didn't exactly get it from one of my buddies or drinking mates or what have you," Doyle explained. "I talked to a more... esoteric source. He didn't have anything specific, but he did say that I should tell you that if you go to this address at eleven thirty tonight, you might learn something." Doyle held out a piece of paper and Angel took a look at the address written in a neat, cramped handwriting that was nothing like Doyle's.

"That's helpful," Angel looked at Doyle pointedly. "What do you mean by ‘esoteric’? Another seer?" _Doesn't sound at all like an obvious trap._ But then, Doyle would know that, so he had to have some reason to trust his source.

"Not exactly, boyo. The Host is... he can't see the future, not really, but he can read your destiny, guide your path. He's tried explaining it to me, but really?" Doyle shrugged. "I don't get how exactly it works. Went in one ear and out the other, ta be honest. But since my path is to help you out on your mission and all that... he said to tell you to go there, eleven thirty."

Angel looked at the address, memorizing it and then sticking the paper into a pocket. "You trust him?"

"The Host doesn't lie about what he sees. He has a code. Doesn't take sides - just helps people on their paths. Anyone who comes into _Caritas_ , good or evil, can get his help if they ask nicely."

" _Caritas_?" The name sounded familiar for a moment, then Angel placed it. "That demon karaoke bar in Chinatown?" Doyle looked at him dumbfounded, and now it was Angel's turn to shrug, "I'm not completely ignorant of L.A.s demon underground. The guy I get my blood from mentioned it." The butcher in question sold a great deal of blood to Caritas, actually. The vampires there probably didn't drink it, but various kinds of animal blood could still be drunk by many different humanoid demons for various kinds of reasons.

"Yeah, that's the place. The Host owns it - and when you sing, he can read your destiny, help you find your path. Like I said." Doyle sat down in one of the chairs at the table. "I don't know what you'll find there tonight, but you'll find something out, I’m thinking."

_Another reason for me to never go to that demon nightclub._ On the list of things Angel never did, 'sing in public' was pretty close to the top. Still, he was grateful that Doyle had gotten the information, however he'd gotten it.

"And while you and the Detective go and find out what it is you're going to find out, I'm meeting up with a few more of my contacts, in case that only gives you half the info." Doyle stood and went over to one of the cabinets, pulling out a glass and a half-empty bottle of Irish Whiskey he'd stashed there a few days ago and pouring himself a healthy measure.

"You're expecting it to?" Angel took a sip from his blood, grimacing a little at the taste - a little worse than usual, this batch. Even at the best of times pig's blood was disgusting, but this... Angel made a mental note to check the rest of the batch, then toss it out if it was this bad. He'd just have to buy some more, if that was the case.

"The help the Host provides is always helpful, pal, but from what I’ve heard, it’s never quite enough on its own. He's like the Oracles, but less full of himself," Doyle explained.

"The Oracles?" Angel didn't recall hearing Doyle mentioning them before, but he could hear the capital 'O' in the name.

Doyle opened his mouth, the closed it again. "Ah, damn, I'm not supposed to mention them. Forget I even said anything..." Doyle shook his head after Angel sent him a curious look, "There's need to know here, Angel, and if the Powers decide I'm not playing by their rules... well, I don't want to risk them getting off their celestial behinds and doing something more than sending me migraines with pictures. That part's bad enough."

Angel considered Doyle's words. "So you haven't been telling me everything from the start?"

Doyle shook his head, "Not everything, no. Like I said, there's levels of need to know here, and... I only know as much as I'm allowed ta know, and there's only so much I get to tell you. I'm sorry, but even telling you that much is a problem." He poured himself yet another measure of whiskey and downed it quickly. He started to pour a third time, but Angel pulled the bottle from his hands.

"If you're not going to tell me anything, at least be sober while you're doing it, Doyle." Angel commented dryly, closing up the bottle.

Mostly, though, he was unwilling to just stand there and watch Doyle drink the whole half-bottle right then and there. His friend really was drinking less these days, and he didn't want to see the man fall backwards on that progress.

Even articulating the thought brought Angel to a sudden pause, as he realized how much having Doyle around all the time had changed his entire approach to things.

_Been a long time since I had a friend..._ Angelus could have maybe counted Penn as a friend, perhaps, but beyond that... Darla was his lover and sire, Drusilla had been a toy, Spike... he'd bullied Spike as much as taught him. They'd never really been friends.

Buffy's friends hadn't been his friends - especially not after he'd terrorized them all as Angelus. Willow at least had some good will towards him, and Faith might actually have some measure of respect for him - of a sort... but the rest? He knew Xander would gleefully dance on his ashes, and while Cordelia and Giles might not go that far, they'd be just fine with seeing him dust in the wind.

"There's nothing I can tell you, Angel." Doyle protested lamely. "You want to know more, you'll have to wait until I'm allowed to spill the beans, or figure it out yourself."

_Well, it's pretty clear these Oracles are higher on the food chain between Doyle and the Powers._ If the Powers were supposed to be the powerful entities on the side of good, then these Oracles had to be good... in theory. At least they were acting in opposition to demons and the like.

Didn't mean he should automatically trust them, though.

"Alright." Angel said after a long moment. "It is what it is."

Doyle nodded. "And now to change the subject to something a little less uncomfortable, you _are_ going to tell the Detective about that info, right?"

"Assuming she accepts the 'got it from a demon that owns a karaoke bar that reads your destiny' explanation, yeah. Vague tips like this aren't exactly the kind of thing she's going to be happy with. Still, she's going to have to get used to it if she keeps delving into the supernatural." Angel shrugged.

**April 22nd, 2000**

**Apartment Building, Los Angeles**

"Your singing, destiny-reading demon didn't happen to give you an apartment number to go with this address and time?" Kate muttered, walking slowly through the halls next to Angel. They'd made their way up to the third floor, looking for something without any idea as to **what** they were looking for. And even as she looked, she couldn't help but be wondering just what the hell she was doing here.

_I'm here on the advice of a demon that reads your destiny when you sing. Jesus Christ._ _This is actually my life now._

"He gave Doyle the same information I gave you, alright?" Angel shrugged. "Eleven thirty, this address. No apartment number, no name, no -" Angel was cut off by the sound of a scream coming from... one of the apartments on this floor!

Angel was moving before she could, crashing into the door of Apartment 312, knocking it off its hinges and onto the ground - and he was unable to enter, but just past him, she could see a man in a white suit, short blonde hair, holding a young woman by the front of her shirt, red light flowing between their eyes.

 

"LAPD, hold it right there!" Kate pulled her gun, shoving Angel out of the way and entering the apartment. "Put her down, _now!_ " The man in the white suit dropped the woman, the red light vanishing as she collapsed into a heap. "Good. Now get down on your knees, and put your hands behind your head!"

"No, I don't think so," The man said calmly, his voice almost serene. He held out his hand pointing it towards the window - the open window - and before she could say anything else, before she could fire her gun, the air between him and the fire escape just outside the window... _shimmered_ and then he was there, on the fire escape, without having moved in the space between...

Kate ran towards him, expecting him to start climbing down the fire escape - behind her she heard Angel running away from the apartment, probably towards the stairs and heading for the outside... but then the man in the white suit vaulted over the railings with ease, and then...

He started _flying_. Or at least doing a really good job of looking like it. He landed on the ground within seconds, even as Kate started running down the fire escape, trying to keep her eye on him as he started to run down the alley onto the street...

_There's no way Angel will get there in time..._

"Stop! Police!" She tried to shoot at the white-clad target as she ran, aiming for the perp’s leg, but her shot missed wildly...

She dropped the ladder to the ground and started to chase after him - but the killer had sprinted out of the alley and onto the main street before she could even get moving...

"Damn it!" Kate kept running, moving after him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the guy, or maybe his car... But when she came around the corner, he was gone, and it was only Angel, running down the steps from the apartment building’s front entrance.

 

"He escaped?!" Angel looked around, then back to her.

"He escaped," Kate confirmed, trying to clamp down on the rage boiling in her. There was nothing else she could have done to take down the killer, apart from maybe opening fire the moment she’d entered the apartment. But trying to hit to wound, at a moving target...

_I should have just shot him first... he was about to kill someone, after all. Even leaving out the supernatural part, I would have been been able to justify it to any review or inquiry... or... when he was running, if I'd just been willing to risk killing him._ If she hadn't been so concerned with just wounding him...

"Well, at least we got a look at him... and we saved his victim..." Yeah, those were upsides, even if they didn't do much to mollify her feelings of failure. "I can talk one of the police sketch artists into making me a sketch of the killer’s face, off the record -" She mentally started running down the list of sketch artists that worked with the precinct... she'd helped Jacob out of an unpaid parking ticket a few months ago... he owed her a favor. She could call him, have him meet her at the station tomorrow.

"If you want to keep this off the record, there’s no need for that. I saw him. I can draw him," Angel interjected, bringing her thoughts to an abrupt stop. "Vampires have perfect recall. I can draw you a sketch of his face, no problem."

Kate blinked, then raised an eyebrow. Angel wasn't one to lie... apart from saying he was a veterinarian, he hadn't actually lied to her once, even before she found out he was a vampire. And what the hell - at a place like Le Cirque, everyone lied about their job, anyway.

Still, she'd have never pegged him for an artist, photographic memory or not. _So not only does he feel remorse for all his evil deeds, but he remembers each one perfectly? Talk about self-made hell._

"Alright," She nodded. "First we check on the victim, then you can get me that sketch."

**April 23rd, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

"Where's your friend, Doyle?" Kate asked, as she followed him out of the elevator. Almost every time she'd dropped by, he was here, so it was a bit odd to not see the Irishman here, even if it was past midnight.

"He doesn't _actually_ live here," Angel shrugged again. "Doyle has his own place. He just hangs around here a lot." Angel switched on the lights and went into the bedroom, returning with a large, but short wooden box which he set on the kitchen table and opened, taking out several artists pencils - she'd dated an art student in college and had learned more about the different kinds of drawing pencils than she really wanted to know - and several pieces of blank paper.

There were other drawings still inside the box though, and on top was a picture of someone Kate recognized - even if the picture hadn't been labeled with the young woman's name.

His ex, Buffy Summers.

It was a stunning picture, amazingly lifelike. She lifted it up to look at the other pictures beneath it, curious at what or who else he might have drawn...

"Don't." Angel said flatly, without even looking at her. Kate withdrew her hand after a moment's hesitation.

"Sorry," Kate shrugged, sitting down at the table across from him as he picked up one of the pencils and set it to paper. "Just curious. You're a hard man to learn things about - at least in the last hundred years."

"You're not exactly the most open and sharing person I've ever met either, Kate." Angel pointed out, not looking away from the paper as he started to sketch. "At least, not without magical influence."

Kate closed her eyes a moment, letting out a sigh. Now _that_ was an evening she really, really wished she could just completely wipe from her memory. At least at the precinct, there was the silent agreement among everyone involved to never mention it again. Angel probably wouldn't have said anything if she hadn't prodded.

"Even with a sketch of his face, we need some idea of where to show it around... I can't put out a BOLO without explaining why I want him, or how I know he's connected to these murders, and I can't do that. Not yet. I suppose your friend could, but if we flash the perp’s picture around too much..."

"It could spook him and he might just run for it, go to another city to keep killing," Angel nodded. "I'll draw a second copy for Doyle, give it to him in the morning. He might be able to show it around to a few of his more trustworthy contacts, at least." From the slightly skeptical look on his face, Kate got the feeling he wasn't sure if Doyle actually _had_ any trustworthy contacts.

Kate nodded. "Worth trying, at least..." She sat back in her chair, watching as Angel started to focus intently on his work, moving his hand in smooth, economical motions as he sketched. It was something he did a lot, judging by how practiced the motions of his hand looked from where she was sitting. It was strange, to think of this vampire actually having a hobby. A perfectly normal, human hobby.

_Of course his photographic memory might help things a little bit there._

Kate looked away - she couldn't quite wrap her mind around Angel **having** a human hobby. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and thought back to the killer, and his intended victim.

The woman in question, Whitney, had still been unconscious when they got back to her apartment, but a quick glass of water had fixed that. The brief conversation she'd been willing to have - had been in a fit state to have - hadn't been very helpful. She'd never seen the man before in her life, and she wasn't even that powerful of a practitioner, at least according to her. A few minor rituals and spells, nothing fancy. And she hadn't known any of the other victims personally, though she'd known the magical loan shark, Grimes, by reputation. That didn't give them any connection they could try to draw.

_She survived, and she said she still had her power, so at least we stopped the bad guy from stealing it from her for whatever he's planning._ Assuming he was planning something. If the killer had been stockpiling guns, you could assume he was planning on using them for something specific, but then again some people - the crazy ones - were just paranoid and wanted to have a big pile of weapons because it made them feel safe. Or just to have them. For all she knew, this man was the magical equivalent.

Still, the way he'd spoken so calmly, escaped so smoothly. He struck her as the kind of man who tried to plan for everything, and he'd at least planned his escape if he was interrupted. The paranoid crazies usually didn’t tend to do that, in her experience.

_So he has some specific reason why he's doing this. Something he wants the power for._ Only problem was, Kate had no idea what. There were no signs left behind, no clues, nothing that belonged to him. No hairs... she'd dusted the fire escape railing for prints, which had given her fingerprints, but without anyone to compare them too...

_I can talk to someone at CSU, get them to run the prints, but that would mean a delay. They're always so backed up, and if I want that to stay off the record it would have to be after hours... big favor to ask._

Still, she could do it, but she needed a faster way to find her target. She needed some sort of clue.

_Five people. All of them magic users of various kinds. Only one owned a shop, and nothing was stolen, and there's no sign anything was stolen from the homes of the others. Or any signs that their homes were searched._ So if the killer was looking for something, it was something he expected to be obvious, and he presumably hadn't found it.

_If he's just after power, why those four? It made sense, the theory that he was building up, using one person's power to let him steal the next, but then he goes after someone who_ ** _isn't_** _that powerful?_ Of course, that was assuming Whitney was telling the truth, but every sign indicated she was, so...

She was more or less back at square one. She had no clues, no ideas, no real leads, apart from a sketch of the killer’s face.

"How did he just... disappear like that? He didn't leave in a car, and I wasn't that far behind him. So how did he just... vanish into thin air? Teleportation?"

"I suppose it's possible... but from what I understand, that's pretty risky magic, especially when you're in a big rush. Have to do it just right, or you could end up stuck inside a wall or a table or something. He could have gone invisible, but I should have been able to still smell him if he did that. Or even follow him by scent for at least a bit." Angel set down his pencil and held the sketch up.

The face looking back at her was the killer's face alright. There was nothing really distinctive about it - just looked like an ordinary face. White male. Maybe his early thirties, thinking back to seeing him in the flesh. Short blonde hair...

His clothing... you didn't see a lot of people wearing white suits these days, especially not in this town, Hollywood chic only went so far... and there was something else. He'd had something, in the front pocket of the suit. A handkerchief or something. Part of the whole fancy suit ensemble... But there was something about the handkerchief, something thing that was niggling at the back of her mind.

Kate leaned forward a bit, resting her arms on the table. "That suit he was wearing. It looked fancy. Expensive. I mean, I didn't really get a good look, but -"

"You’re right, I saw it too," Angel agreed, "It looked expensive." She watched Angel close his eyes a moment. He gestured to his chest. "He had something in his front pocket, some sort of handkerchief or... _something_. It was... It was monogrammed."

_That's it!_

"It was... it had letters," Kate realized. "Two letters." She wracked her brain, trying to recall them, but given the lighting...

"Yeah... C and J. Sorta... stylized. Like this," Angel quickly sketched out a slightly overlapping and stylized C and J in the corner of the page that held his sketch of the man's face.

"Could be his initials." Kate theorized, then she sighed. "Or it could be the initials of the place he bought the suit from."

"It's something to go on, at least."

"Something, yeah," Kate sighed. "Just not sure how much." She stood up from her chair. "It doesn't make any sense, Angel. We thought he was going for victims that were progressively more powerful, but then this woman... she says she doesn't have a lot of power, and I believe her."

"So do I," Angel agreed. He considered something, and then said, "If his suit is as expensive as it looks, and he's willing to just... kill people to take their power - then he's probably a client of Wolfram and Hart, don’t you think?"

Kate blinked, then realized Angel was right. She was still getting used to the notion that Wolfram and Hart wasn't just a law firm that represented evil people... but was _evil_ itself. That hired demons and represented demons and vampires, facilitated their sins in all sorts of ways, for enough money...

"You're probably right, but that doesn't help us find him." Though it did mean it would be harder to bring the killer to justice, but she would find a way to make sure there was ironclad evidence. Something not even the evil lawyers could explain away.

"It could. Wolfram and Hart... they knew about the MacNamaras' fight ring." Now it was Angel's turn to stand up. "One of their lawyers tried to get me to leave it alone. They have their fingers in a lot of pies all over the city, from what I've heard." From Doyle or from others. "So they might be the ones feeding him his targets, if our power build-up theory was wrong . There's no listing in the phone book under 'wizard' or 'witch', so he'd have to know how to find them. They might be the ones who told him the who and how."

_It’s possible. Still…_ "You may be right. But unless he goes back there while we're watching... No. If any of those lawyers saw me staking out their office building, they'd file a complaint with the department and I'd end up on suspension for 'harassing' them and their clients. And you can't watch them during the day."

Kate rubbed at her temples before continuing. "I have... I've got nothing." She walked around the table and picked up Angel's sketch of the man. "I'll take this back to the apartment building tomorrow, ask around, see if anyone spotted him. Maybe he... scouted the place out before going in to kill her." She could do the same thing around the other crime scenes, now that she had a picture... it was a long shot, but at least it was something.

**April 24th, 2000**

**LAPD 12th Street Station House**

"Detective Lockley."

Kate looked up from her desk at the sound of her captain's voice, wondering what had gotten him to actually acknowledge her existence for once - he'd been pretending she didn't exist for months now.

"Sir," Lockley lowered her pen and gave him her full attention - no point in giving him any ammunition to try and reassign her as punishment.

"You want to tell me why you put a BOLO out on a license plate registered to Wolfram and Hart!? What was your basis for that?"

Kate gestured to the case file in front of her. "My case. I got to thinking - given the lack of evidence left behind at each murder, how well the whole thing was pulled off without witnesses, that suggested premeditated planning. Someone who knew the general area well, knew when to do it to have the best chance of no witnesses. So I asked around each murder scene, if there had been anyone or anything odd in the general area a few days before the murder."

"And you got a license plate out of 'anything odd?' This is L.A., Detective -" The Captain started, frustration evident in his voice, but Kate shook her head and interrupted the upcoming rant smoothly.

"No, sir; for each crime scene, I found someone who mentioned a man in a white suit in the area, three days before the murder. For all four murders. And one of the people I spoke with mentioned seeing him get into a black sports car. Something about focusing mostly on the car, because it was so nice-looking. So then I checked through traffic camera footage in the area around and the time around each sighting of the man. I found a black sports car matching the description for three of the murders, with that license plate."

That was partially a lie - she'd asked about men in white suits, shown the sketch, that part was true enough. The lie was that they'd remembered the man being around there on their own, without seeing the picture, without asking about a white suit. But she did have witnesses who placed him in the area. And that had led her to the car, and to the license plate. Checking the DMV database had shown it was a Wolfram and Hart owned car, the type that was loaned out to their richest clients if they needed a vehicle.

"That's pretty circumstantial, Lockley. Not to mention flimsy." The Captain pointed out, even though he looked somewhat uncomfortable saying it.

"At one of the murder scenes? Maybe. Maybe even two, but three out of the four, sir? Seriously, this car - possibly being driven by this man in white - three days before the murder at three scenes? That's something, sir, cases have been built on less." If only she could say she’d seen the killer in person, but if she did that then her captain want to know why she was in the area. Not like she could fob him off, especially under the current circumstances -

She was on thin ice - especially now that Wolfram and Hart really was involved. They'd probably complained about the BOLO on one of their cars, sending the Captain after her to cover his and the LAPD's ass from a lawsuit. _All right, time to toss the boss man a bone..._

"I'm not accusing this man of anything, sir. Not yet, anyway. I just want to talk to him, and this car is the only lead I have for finding him." Kate explained. "And if the man is a client of Wolfram and Hart, he can always ask for his attorney to be present when I talk to him."

The Captain inhaled sharply, "Tread carefully on this one, Detective. You're skating on very thin ice."

**April 24th, 2000**

**Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles**

"I've got a name on the bad guy," Doyle said as he walked into Angel's apartment from the lower floor entrance, holding up a piece of paper. He wasn't thrilled about the work he'd had to put into getting the name, the favors he'd had to call in just to get ahold of someone who could tell him who to talk to, but he'd finally gotten a name.

_The things I do for the mission, yeah?_

"See," Doyle started to explain, speaking loud enough so that Angel could hear him in the apartment wherever he was. "I talked to a buddy of mine, who put me in touch with one of his cousins. He had an old friend whose brother in law -" Doyle waved his hand. "A whole chain of people I had to talk to, but I finally got in touch with a guy who sometimes get subcontracted by Wolfram and Hart, helps handle some of their Client Services."

"Client services?" Angel asked, entering the main room.

"Yeah. They set visiting clients up in fancy hotel rooms, or get them stuff - sometimes illegal, sometimes just hard to find. The full concierge service for evil." Doyle shrugged, "Anyway, this guy, he wasn't willing to tell me much, what with Wolfram and Hart not being too fond of their employees or contractors running their mouths off and all, but after I dropped your name and gave him some cash, he was willing to tell me one thing," Doyle flopped down on the couch and held the paper out to Angel, who took it.

"Client came to Los Angeles from New York, name of Clayton Jasper. The guy got paid to supply Jasper with ten gallons of goat's blood. Never actually saw the man, just parked the van with the blood in an empty parking lot and left. Van's gone, of course, but Clayton Jasper? CJ?" Doyle shrugged.

"Makes sense," Angel said, nodding, looking at the paper. "Ten gallons of goat's blood? That is a lot of dead goats."

"You're telling me. He was talking about how many different places he had to go to get it all. Can't think of anything nice you'd need that much animal blood for. I mean, little bit for an offering, minor rituals, sure, blood has power and all that nonsense, but ten gallons? That's some pretty dark territory right there, boyo." Doyle reached into his pocket and pulled out another paper. "Had another vision too. Not urgent yet - got two days until you're supposed to meet this one, some guy named Victor, this address." Angel took that one too. "Probably enough time to find this guy, now that you have a name."

"A name isn't an address, but hopefully Kate can turn that name into something useful -" Angel started, and then, as if the Powers themselves had arranged everything to fall in line neatly, the phone rang. Doyle was right next to it, so he picked it up, bringing the phone to his ear.

"This is Angel's phone. For Angel, press one. For his much more interesting sidekick Doyle, press two."

"Hand over the phone to Angel," Detective Lockley said on the other end of the line, and she didn't sound amused at all.

Doyle held the phone out to Angel. "It's Lockley."

"Kate." Angel said, grabbing the phone. "You have an address? That's perfect, because Doyle found a name. Clayton Jasper." Pause. "Run the name, and I'll take the sewers, meet you at that address soon as it's dark." He hung up and then grabbed a scrap of blank paper from by the phone and wrote something down. And this time it was Doyle's turn to be handed a piece of paper.

"Kate found what she's pretty sure is Jasper's car, tracked it to this address. Look familiar?"

Doyle looked at the address for a moment, then shook his head. "Probably a warehouse - everything in that area is a warehouse or something close. But I don't know it offhand. And I'm probably gonna regret asking, but you need me to come with you and the detective, as backup?"

Angel shook his head, "No. Hold onto it, though. If Jasper isn't there, then you'll have to ask around about that place."

"Oh joy," Doyle stood up, not looking forward to yet another round of talking to his associates, buddies and contacts. It was always a risky business, and then there were the ones that remembered he owed them money. He didn't want to have to move, but if he kept this up, he'd have to - because his 'house of pies' trick could only work so much longer.

"I need a drink just thinking about how much lovely fun that'll be." He retrieved the bottle from underneath the counter, pouring himself a double before closing it back up. Just the one stiff drink, no need to finish of what was left of the bottle tonight.

"Here's hoping you catch the bastard," Doyle said, downing the glass quickly.

**April 24th, 2000**

**Abandoned Warehouse, Los Angeles**

From the outside, the warehouse looked more or less like any other. She'd looked into the address, and all she'd found was a string of shell corporations inside shell corporations - no idea who really owned the thing, but she'd eat her badge if Wolfram and Hart weren't the ultimate owners of the place.

"Well, this is where the goat's blood is," Angel observed, standing next to her. "All ten gallons of it, from the smell."

"Great." At least this was more confirmation that they had the right place. And now it was time to go in. Kate wished she had some police backup, but that wasn't possible, and if she'd had it, all she'd probably do was get them killed. "I'll go in first. If he has any... minions or something, keep them off me while I go for him. Got it?"

Angel nodded. "I've got it. Just... be careful, alright?"

Kate didn't say anything in response to that as she went to the door, checking to see if it was locked - which it was, sure enough.

Picking the lock, Kate was already planning excuses she could give about getting into the place without a warrant. She'd searched places without warrants before - Angel's apartment when she'd thought he was the killer at Le Cirque, for example. She didn't make a habit of it, but there were some rules she was willing to bend, and always had been, to do what was right.

_Warrantless searches are one thing._ Illegal, and probably hypocritical of her on some level, but reality and the finer points of warrant law didn't always meet, especially in the surreal reality of the supernatural.

As she opened the door, Kate's nose was assaulted by the smell of old blood, the metallic stench overpowering anything else she might have smelled from the place. 

There was dried blood _everywhere_ , painted on the walls in strange symbols, a few of which Kate remembered seeing in various books, but didn't know the meaning of. The symbols were on the floor too, and even on the support columns for the interior of the structure. Several of those support columns were in in strange places, their odd placement giving the interior an almost distorted look for a few seconds, and Kate realized that those ones had been... _moved_ recently. 

As she stepped further into the warehouse, she realized the whole place had been renovated very recently. There were obvious signs of an upper rafter area having been ripped out, for example.

The sound of chanting from the far end of the warehouse drew Kate's attention, and there he was - the man in white. The killer.

Clayton Jasper. He stood in front of a large circle drawn in blood on the floor, the circle dotted with burning braziers. She couldn't understand the words, or even hear them that well, given how quietly he was chanting; but at the center of the circle was a young man, bound, blindfolded and gagged to a chair.

_I think he's distracted..._ Kate took several quiet steps into the building, Angel right behind her, and sure enough, there was no sign of Jasper hearing them or turning away from his chanting. The young man didn't seem to be struggling against his bonds... she had no idea how much time there was before something happened to him, some kind of sacrifice, but she wasn't going to let things get that far.

She just needed to be closer. She gestured at Angel, indicating for him to go around to the left of Clayton, while she moved to the right, and Angel nodded. She kept moving slowly, pulling her gun from its holster and taking off the safety. She wasn't going to shoot first unless it was to save the prisoner, but... she had to be ready to shoot. She palmed her badge into her other hand and drew closer. FInally, she got close enough that she could make out his murmured chants.

"-Aresh varis, koh'Taleth," Jasper chanted slowly, speaking what sounded more or less like gibberish to her. Then he abruptly switched to English…

"Accept this sacrifice as payment for your service, and cross over. Open! Open the way!" Jasper raised his voice to an almost thunderous pitch when he finished the chant, throwing his hands upwards and gesturing, the fire in the braziers suddenly turning into roaring pillars of flame for a few seconds before clamping back down.

_Sacrifice. The prisoner._ That was enough of that. "Freeze! Clayton Jasper, you are under arrest for murder!" She pointed her gun, holding ber badge up as she drew closer him. "Assume the position, mister. There's no fire escape for you to use this time!"

Jasper turned towards her slowly, lowering his hands to his side. "Detective Lockley. I suppose this is the point where I give you points for persistence, but I am rather busy at the moment," and his voice was back to the calm it had been the other night, in Whitney's apartment. He pointed his left hand at her and... once more the air shimmered between them, but this time she felt a blow hitting her, as if she was punched in the gut, and Kate staggered back, stumbling to the floor, gasping for air - her gun fell out of her grip and skidded a few feet across the floor.

As if she hadn't even interrupted him, Jasper turned back to the circle, resuming his chanting in that same language he'd been using before his switch to English.

Still sucking in breaths, she watched as Angel came at Jasper from the other side, not even bothering to to say anything to him as he lunged, attempting to tackle Jasper to the ground and disrupt his casting -

Without warning, Angel drew up short, as if he'd hit a threshold invitation barrier, stalled about a foot away from Jasper.

"Wolfram and Hart warned me about you," Jasper didn't even look at Angel as he began to make a series of complicated gestures, completely calm and assured of his own invincibility. "I’ll admit, I didn't expect police interference, but I did know there was a chance you might get in the way of my work here, and I really can't have that. So I took precautions. Now... if you’ll kindly go away..." Still without looking at Angel, he thrust his hands sideways, as if shoving something out of his way and Kate struggled to her feet, watching in horror as flames rose from one of the braziers and flew at Angel.

"Angel!" She cried out, her throat clenching as Angel's black duster caught on fire - the vampire fell back, rolling on the ground, struggling to pull his coat off - and in the process, his shirt caught flames as well.... Then he managed to get that off too, leaving him bare above the waist and badly scorched, but at least the flames were gone... he'd survived.

_Oh thank God._ Kate turned her gaze back to Jasper, who was yet again seeming to ignore them as he continued to chant, and finally returning to English as the air in the circle, right behind the prisoner...

It... it _ripped_ open. It was the only way she could describe it as something split behind the chair, coming apart and showing a fiery roiling mass, like looking directly at Hell itself...

Instinctively, Kate's hand went to the cross around her neck as Jasper spoke.

"Accept my offering! Come through and take this sacrifice, consume him and we shall strike an accord! Come through! The way is open!"

_That man is going to die!_

Kate looked to the gun out of the corner of her eye, remembering what Jasper just said. _I’ll admit, I didn't expect police interference..._

Could he truly have been so arrogant? Jasper seemed to have planned for everything, but he was distracted now... if this **was** going to work, now was the time to do something about it.

Diving to the left, Kate grabbed for her gun - and this time she didn't bother with saying anything as a _shape_ started to come out of the tear, flames reaching for the sacrifice. Life was on the line now...

She squeezed the trigger once, twice... three times she fired, right into the center mass. The first one seemed to have no effect even as it hit Jasper, but then the second bullet impacted and he staggered back, broken off mid-chant; but only for a moment.

"Yes! Yes! By the powers I have stolen by right of conquest and force, I call you to th-"

And the third bullet saw Jasper stagger back again, even further... and drop to his knees, blood staining his once-immaculate white suit.

"How -" Clayton managed to gurgle the beginning of the question, before falling forward flat onto his face.

For a split second, nothing to seemed to be changing - the fiery shape, starting to take the form of some sort of snake with arms was still moving towards the bound man, but then... it withdrew into the tear... but rather than seeing it close, the tear started to widen. Then it went still for a moment, a hole in reality leading to some sort of hellish world of fire and brimstone, and a vibration started to go up Kate's leg...

_The ground is shaking..._ it was only a little bit, a minor tremor, perhaps? Bad, nonetheless, but something she couldn't get distracted by.

Kate pushed the thought out of her mind, running to the prisoner, hurriedly untying him and removing his blindfold and gag. But before he could say anything, she gestured for the door. 

 

"Detective Kate Lockley, LAPD - get out of here, now. Wait outside!" The man didn't need a second prompting and he raced for the exit, shouting thanks at her as he ran, and Kate looked around, desperate for any sign of evidence that might tie Jasper to these murders in a way she could actually present to her superiors.

She had the prisoner, who could back up her assertion that Jasper was about to kill him, but - there was nothing tying the white-clad killer to the four murders, no evidence she could use, no -

Kate had been so busy looking for Jasper that she'd missed one last thing, against the wall in the very far end of the warehouse from the entrance. A desk, a computer, and a filing cabinet.

_Please have something I can use..._

Sparing a glance to Angel to make sure he was alright - and getting momently distracted, when it really registered that the man was shirtless...

_Huh, not just the face of an ang-_ Kate all but slapped herself and pulled herself back to the moment, crossing the warehouse to the desk.

"Kate, his portal isn't closing! The spell is still active!" Angel said, walking behind her and to the left. "There's no telling what could happen, we need to -"

"We need to find evidence proving that Jasper was the man behind the murders, Angel. Something I can use to close this case, something the LAPD will actually pay attention to." She leaned over the chair and started using the computer - but when she turned on the monitor, she was immediately hit with a request for a password.

"Damn it!" The LAPD’s IT division would have someone that could hack into it, but they weren't here right now...

"Maybe there'll be a way to stop this spell in these drawers," Kate suggested, gesturing to the desk and the file cabinet. Without waiting for a response, Kate put gloves on and opened one of the desk drawers. The first was just a few office supplies, but the second had a file folder in it - opening it up, she saw a complete file on the would-be fifth victim - name, address, map of the building, handwritten notes in the margin where Jasper had observed the area himself...

"Check the filing cabinet for the ones he killed... if we can show those... combined with the man he just tried to sacrifice... that should be enough..." _Enough to close the case, and cover my ass._ She had no problems with Jasper's death... she'd wanted to bring him in alive, would have preferred it, but the man was a monster...

And besides, she’d had to to it to save that man's life.

"I think I see -" Angel started, but before he could finish his sentence, the warehouse shook violently and then when Kate turned around, she saw the tear in reality starting to open once more.

Red light started to glow around Jasper's body, and then it started to... bleed - it was the only word Kate would think of - out into the air around him, the shaking growing more violent by the second.

"The spell..." Angel pulled away from the filing cabinet, racing towards the ritual circle, and the tear. "His death set the whole thing free... it took a few minutes for the energy to build up, but now the ritual is finishing itself... without anyone to stop it..." Angel turned to Kate. "We have to disrupt the spell, break the whole thing before it gets completely out of control. There’s no telling what might happen if we don’t stop it!"

"And if we don't?" Kate had no frame of reference for what was going on... she could see shapes in the distance on the far end of the tear... moving towards the tear, towards Earth. Large, humanoid... but giant, if she could even judge size at a distance across dimensions.

"I have no idea. Nothing good - but at least one of the consequences will be a giant portal to a hell dimension in the middle of Los Angeles, with a lot of magical power firing off on this end. Jasper might not have been able to summon and bind whatever he was after, but all that loose power bleeding out of him is going to be like a huge neon invitation sign for the demons native to... wherever that is," Angel gestured to the tear.

"A neon sign that says 'Demons welcome, please invade Earth!"

_That would be bad._

"How do you propose we... disrupt the -" The warehouse shook again, one of the braziers falling over onto the ground, the flaming coals flying out. "Angel! The braziers - we have to get the evidence out of here, before any more fall over and -"

"Wait! That's it!" Angel interrupted her. "Rituals like this need everything to be just so, and - this place was just renovated. I can still smell the sawdust... everything had to be arranged just right in here for Clayton Jasper to cast his spell... we have to destroy this building to seal that portal, and the best way to do it is to burn this place down!"

Kate blinked - was he serious? "Angel! No - I"m not going to burn down this warehouse - I'm not going to commit arson!" The very thought... what the hell was wrong with him? _I'm an officer of the law! I don't destroy buildings, and I don't destroy evidence!_ "I'm not breaking the -"

"You didn't care about breaking the law when you searched my place without a warrant, Kate," Angel threw back at her. "Or coming in _here_ without a warrant, either. If the law actually acknowledged demons and magic and portals, they'd probably cover this under the same rules that let you shoot someone to save another person's life. But the law doesn't - you can't fight the supernatural and follow all the rules about being a cop! Or even most of them!" Angel started to brush past her, heading for another brazier, but Kate moved to stand in front of him.

_He's, he's right. Right? If there is a portal to a hell dimension just standing open..._

"Wait - just let me get the evidence, find the files..."

"Kate, we don't have _time!_ Every second we waste is one second more that the spell could end up self-sustaining, or those demons over there could come through and start destroying L.A.!"

Kate stood stock still, processing what Angel was saying for several seconds as the vampire moved around her, grabbed another brazier and threw it into the wall, letting the flames start to lick at the outside of the structure...

_The evidence - the files, the body... anything else that could be here..._

Kate had no way of knowing if Angel was right, but she'd learned by now to trust his instincts...

_Goddamnit... no, I can't-_

_Yes I can. I don't have a choice._

"Damn you, Angel!" Kate abruptly gave up and went to another of the braziers and, angling her kick carefully, kicked the bowl and the fire within into one of the support columns.

_I can't even begin to imagine how many lies it's going to take to cover all this up..._

Angel was right about one thing. She was running up against the limits of the law, and hard.


End file.
